


Supernautral

by hornblowerfic_archivist



Series: Supernatural [1]
Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Graphic Sex, Horror, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-16
Updated: 2009-07-16
Packaged: 2018-05-23 14:58:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 45,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6120088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hornblowerfic_archivist/pseuds/hornblowerfic_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Horatio learns there is more than what lies at the surface of Jamaican life, such as magic, mystery and a love that can cross class and race boundaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Hornblowerfic.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Hornblowerfic.com). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in January 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [Hornblowerfic.com collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hornblowerfic/profile).

He stood over the grave, head hung morosely in silent repose, his soft brown curls blowing gently in the salty breeze coming off the ocean. There had been no pomp, no hero's funeral for the deceased. Guilt shaded the man's handsome young face making him look older, betraying his years though no tears stained his heat reddened cheeks.

Charlotte stood by a nearby tree, observing quietly, listening to the wind blowing in the eaves, to the distant sound of the sea, the waves lapping against their shores in endless refrain. Another man stood next to the first, shorter, fair haired, stockier. He was speaking to the first but no audible words fell from his lips and the brown haired man seemed little to notice. That's when Charlotte noticed the second man seemed to be nothing but shadow, an image projected onto a wisp of smoke, not there, not real at all. The first man lay a flower at the grave, turned and walked away. The second disappeared.

Charlotte awoke with a start, taking a moment to focus to realize she was safe in her bed in the small quarters she shared with her fellow kitchen servant Martha, whom everyone just referred to as Old Mother, behind the kitchen house to the left of the main plantation manor. Old Mother stirred in the bed next to her, turning one brown and one solid white blind eye towards her in dismay.

"What is it, child?" she asked, her ancient voice wheezing with concern. Then she smiled, revealing a mostly toothless grin, and laughed, "Dreaming again? We all dream, child. It's what we do wit the dreams that counts. Come now, it's almost dawn. Might as well get up and begin preparing Mrs. Abigail her breakfast. Don't look so morose, child. Maybe your dreams come to something, maybe they don't. It's all part of the mystery. Come now, don't drag your feet, up wit ye!"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The plantation manor, Myrtle Chase, loomed pleasantly in the distance as the carriage made its way up the dirt path that led up to the opulent house. Horatio looked warily out the carriage window to catch a glimpse of the elegant abode. He hated social gatherings of this sort, all pleasantries and nicities, bowings and `how do you do, sir's and `pleasure to meet you, ma'am's. If the invitation to attend hadn't come from Lady Anne Pellew herself, the esteemed wife of his dear friend and mentor, he probably would have politely declined and spent the night in peace on the Retribution. But he could not refuse, he owed Commodore Pellew so much. Still, he told himself, he wouldn't enjoy it. He never did.

The carriage came to a halt and Horatio stepped out glancing around in the dusking evening, the purpling light of the sky, the servants lighting the lanterns. Freed men, he told himself, that's what he'd been told. Mrs. Abigail Bennett would not abide by slaves on her plantation, it was her late husband's wish that all men and women who worked at The Chase would be free and receive payment for their services, and so Abigail kept that promise.

He was ushered inside through a throng of gathering visitors by a tall lank man with lazy eyes and a lopsided grin to the ballroom. An astoundingly large room, it contained no less than two chandeliers and a fireplace so massive six grown men could stand in it comfortably when the fires were not lit. Horatio wondered what one would need a fireplace for in the damnable tropical climate of Jamaica but knew better than to voice such a remark.

"Mr. Hornblower, sir," a voice boomed across the crowd dimming the noise of polite chatter and gossip that dominated the cavern of a room.

Horatio recognized it at once and turned to see Commodore Pellew, his lined aged face though reddened from the tropical heat beaming happily at the sight of the younger man. On his arm hung a handsome woman, her blond hair turning a gradual gray at the temples, her sharp gray eyes regarding Horatio with warmth.

"And here I thought you'd never show, man!" the older man said with a wry smile. "May I present my wife, the Lady Anne Pellew."

"It's an honor, ma'am," Horatio heard himself say, despite the scorn he'd heaped on such pleasantries just minutes earlier. He bowed cordially, taking her hand as she offered it to him and kissing it lightly. "I did not know you'd come to Jamaica, m'Lady."

"Yes, well," the Lady smiled warmly, "as it looked like my husband would be here for quite some time, I decided the journey was well worth the making. Wouldn't you agree?" She turned to her husband who smiled fondly and Horatio could see he was squeezing her hand gently. "Come now, Mr. Hornblower, I must introduce you to my cousin, Mrs. Bennett. She is in fact the benefactor of the feast you are here to partake of."

"Of course, my Lady," he answered politely. "Lead on."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"A finer gathering of gentry I have never seen," the tall, lank servant Ben, commonly referred to by most as Bones, clicked his tongue as he entered the kitchen house. He bowed lavishly and affected an elegant gentlemanly voice and mannerism. "Why, Miss Charlotte, it is a pleasure to meet you, m'Lady. Won't you have this dahnce?"

"Get away," Charlotte laughed, picking up a silver platter brimming with all matter of meats and fine eatings. "Fly," she dismissed him with a wave of her hand, heading towards the kitchen doors.

"You tell us what it like in there, honey," Old Mother grinned. "Young Bones here, he don't know nothing. You tell us all what it like being surrounded by such fine people."

"Serving them," Bones corrected and Old Mother shot him a sour look.

"Bite your tongue now, boy, old Master Gabriel was good to us," the old half-blind woman scolded the younger man. "He freed us, without him, you'd probably be out picking cotton for nothing save an empty belly and a whipping at the end of the day. And Mrs. Abigail, she treats us good. Ain't gonna find the likes of her elsewhere and you remember it cause the ways I remember it, I remembers the bad old days. Now go, child, they is waiting for ye," she shooed Charlotte out the door.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The dining room was just as awe inspiring as the ballroom. Massive in scale with no less than two fire places and one long polished wooden oak table with enough chairs to seat at least sixty. Dish after solid silver dish was laid out before them and Horatio feared it would never stop, that they'd all be buried underneath the masses of food their gracious host was providing. Their host, a beautiful woman, maybe in her early thirties with long fiery red hair, a trustworthy oval face and a keen sense of humor, took her place at the head of the table and her guests followed.

'Oh no, not another one,' Horatio was just thinking as a platter was laid in front of him when he caught sight of the woman who was holding it. His breath caught in his throat seeing her lovely mulatto face, the dark but straight silky hair she was fighting (and losing) to confine in a bun, her dark brown eyes and light brown skin. She was striking at the least, breathtaking. He felt his heart hammer in his ribcage and his voice stuck in his throat.

Trying hard not to stare at the guests, Charlotte averted her gaze as long as she could, but the temptation proved too much as she approached the table to set her tray down. At first she tried to ignore the stare coming from the young officer, (a captain?) seated next to where she stood, but her eyes wandered. She gasped and dropped the platter she was holding as she recognized his face. It was the man from her dream, the mourning officer standing over a silent grave. The platter fell to the floor as most of its contents fell onto Horatio's lap. Instantly, apologies started flying from Charlotte's lips as a few sorted guests started spitting insults and outrages at her.

"I'm sure Charlotte meant no harm," Abigail said sharply, flying to her defense.

"N-no harm done," Horatio managed to sputter out to assure the other guests, clumsily brushing the food from his breeches with his napkin. The woman was still staring at him in horror as she got down on her knees and quickly tried to clean the mess she'd made, there was something behind her dark eyes that made him frown, an unfathomable depth to which he had not been invited and was not wanted.

"I'm telling you," a guest said loudly enough to be heard over the confused din, "the only way to keep her type in line is with the threat of the whip."

"We all do things our own way, sir," Abigail's response came coldly. "It was my husband's wish that all our servant's be freedmen and I will honor that wish. Come, Charlotte," the woman said with an unexpected tenderness, "get Ben in here to clean this mess up."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Charlotte waited in the darkness until the guests began to depart. What would she tell him, even if she could get him alone, get him to listen to her? She spotted him, his soft brown curls blowing gently in the late evening winds unmistakable. He was speaking with Mrs. Abigail, saying his goodnights and good-byes. When she departed, Charlotte screwed up her courage and beckoned to him. Frowning, his brow furrowing innocently, he followed, joining her in the darkness of the lawns. She looked even more lovely in the moonlight, her round curves illuminated in the silvery glow. He spoke first, "I'm...terribly sorry for what happened this evening, miss. I'm sure the fault was mine. I..."

"You have lost someone you love recently?" she asked bluntly. The comment caught him off guard, he didn't know how to answer. Archie, he thought instantly. But how could she know? Who was she?

"Y-yes," he replied reluctantly. "A very good friend of mine, he sacrificed much for me. Why do you ask about this?"

"There are those who would commune with the dead. Do you believe this?"

Another bizarre question. Yes, he'd heard of the superstitions, the whisperings. Voodoo, they called it, a deplorable slave practice brought with them from their native land. Was she one of them? Gazing into her luminous eyes he found that very difficult to believe.

"I should be leaving now," he murmured, though he stayed transfixed to the spot. Was he bewitching him?

"Your friend, he tries to speak with you," she continued. "I've seen it in my dreams, but I am not adept like the others, Bones and Old Mother and Maria Alva. I know people that could help."

"There are no such things as ghosts," he said firmly, making up his mind to leave immediately, just as soon as he could stop gazing into her beautiful eyes, stop wanting to touch her warm coffee colored skin. Dammit, what was he doing? She had no right to speak to him this way, no right to speak of Archie. He turned to leave.

"Archie," she blurted out. "In my dreams the name on the tombstone is Archibald, but you called him Archie." He stopped in his tracks and turned back to her." He must have been a very dear friend. I don't want to hurt you with these words, just make you listen."

"Are you a spirit?" he asked, unsure suddenly of everything.

Charlotte just laughed. "No," she replied lightly, "I'm Charlotte Freeman. And you would be?"

"Horatio Hornblower, Captain of His Britannic Majesty's ship, Retribution," he said his voice faltering. "Who are you, what do you want?"

"I want to help you, Captain Horatio Hornblower," she moved towards him. He had to look away to keep from falling under her spell once more, the large, honest eyes, the softness of the curve of her breast. He blushed. She took his hand, it was small within the confines of his large slender fingers. "Archie wants me to help you. In my dreams he's speaking, always talking but I do not hear what he says. He says it to you. Please, come tomorrow night, before midnight. To the kitchen houses, Old Mother and I will be waiting for you. Please."

For a moment he considered it, just as quickly he cursed himself for doing so. He broke his hand from hers and backed away.

"Damned words," he spat out. "Nothing in this Christian world would make me..." He cut himself short. The woman, Charlotte, looked deeply wounded and recoiled from him as if she'd been struck. Her eyes cut at him and his heart broke. Why, dammit, why couldn't he just walk away?! "Hellish words, never have I heard the likes of," he scowled, more softly than he'd intended.

"Just come," she replied coldly. "These are your demons and I want them to haunt me no longer!" With that she turned and walked away, out into the darkness, disappearing into the night.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Old Mother sat on the rough wooden floor of the kitchen house, laying out cards in front of her in strange patterns when Charlotte stormed in. The younger woman was clearly distraught; her face was twisted with something, some unreadable emotion. Old Mother spoke first, her voice a rasping chuckle, "He will come, child, do not worry."

"Do you know, Mother?" Charlotte asked hopefully. "Do you know for certain?"

In response, Old Mother only waved her hand in dismissal as if to say 'Old Mother always knows for certain!'

"Now away, to bed wit ye, girl!" Old Mother snapped, then laughed again. Charlotte sighed and obeyed, leaving the old woman to her mysteries.

"Nothing to be done wit the girl, Old Doctor," the old biddy said aloud to seemingly no one. Clearing away the other cards she drew another from her deck and placed it on the floor in front of her, the Jack of Spades. She drew another and lay it atop the first smiling, the wrinkles of her ancient face deepening. The Queen of Hearts.

"Interesting," she cackled. "The Doctor and Old Mother always know, eh?"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dreaming again, this time they were standing in the plantation fields, Charlotte and the brown haired captain. Blindingly white clouds swept rapidly through the endless blue sky and a wind whipped at her dark brown hair, which hung loosely down her back, lashing it against her face and body. Horatio reached out to brush it from her eyes and forehead, feeling her soft dark skin beneath his touch.

Archie knelt beside them, speaking without words, reciting a silent soliloquy or elegy. Charlotte took the blond man's hand and pulled him to his feet, touching first his face then Horatio's, the feel of her palm against his skin sending a thrill through him like a charge. Archie stepped away from them and disappeared and Horatio fell to his knees, bitter stinging tears falling upon the cheek the servant woman had just touched. He felt himself leaning into her, resting his head against her soft, ample breast, felt her arms around him comfortingly, her fingers running gently through his hair.

With that, Horatio awoke with a start, sweat dampening his furrowed brow. He tried to settle back down but although he slept, rest eluded him for the rest of the night.


	2. Chapter 2

The sun set in brilliant gold, illuminating the ocean in a multitude of breathtaking colors and a musky purple dusk settling in across the land. Lady Anne watched from the balcony of her and Sir Edward's guests' quarters at The Chase.  
  
"Come look at the sight, love" she called provocatively to her husband. He smiled as he took her hand and kissed it lovingly.  
  
"I've seen those sights endlessly for the past six months," he told her, pulling her to him, wrapping his arms around her waist. "It's this sight I'm interested in taking in." He kissed her long neck sensuously, breathing in her scent, lilacs and cedar.  
  
"Mmmmm," Anne breathed deeply. "There's something in the air tonight, Edward. Can you feel it? There's a lovers' breath in the breeze this evening. Can you taste it, love?"  
  
"I can indeed," he smiled taking his wife's face in his hand and tasting of her lips, slowly, sweetly. "Come inside now, Anne," he beckoned and led her to the bed.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
In the field below, Bones waited until the Commodore and his wife disappeared from view and waved to his fellow workers. They'd finished their duties for the night, and their time was now their own to spend in what ever way they felt fit. A small group stole away, seemingly disappearing into the field. More would join later, when kitchen and chambermaid duties were completed. Then it would begin.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
"Begging my pardon, sir," Matthews frowned, approaching Horatio who sat morosely at a table at the local Inn gazing off dreamily and troubled into the distance, "but is everything alright."  
  
The conflict within Horatio was too much to bear. He knew he should not go; he knew it was wrong, blasphemy, but its seductive pull at the back of his brain. He saw Charlotte's beautiful face looming over him, the soft lull of her voice, the sweet temptation in the curves of her body. He thought of Archie, of his dream the night previous. His friend, his dear friend. The silent elegy that fell from his lips, his closeness. He had seemed almost real. Had Charlotte done that? Sent him dreams of promise, of sadness and of hope?  
  
"Quite alright, thank you Mr. Matthews," he said, the slight shaking in his voice betraying his tone. He frowned. "But I might be going out tonight again."  
  
"Another fancy dinner party, eh?" Matthews smiled warmly. "They'll have you fat and lazy by the time the gentry of Jamaica is done with you," he laughed, adding a `sir' off of Horatio's stern look.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
"The lover's moon," Old Mother smiled toothlessly as she glanced up at the purpling sky and the low round disk, heavy and pregnant, rising to its place among the heavens out of the hazy dusk. She tottered across the field slowly with the help of an old ash wood cane knowing the way by heart despite her blindness and the ever-growing darkness. Soon she could see the fire in the distance, hear the soft chanting, and see vaguely the shapes clothed in white dancing to the ancient rhythms.  
  
"Welcome, Old Mother," a man said as she passed, and all seemed to stop as all welcomed her, bowing their heads in respect as she passed. With Bones' help, she knelt before an alter decorated with several differently colored candles and odds and ends the servants had brought to pay tribute, and placed a necklace and a bottle rum beside one of the flickering candles.  
  
"Erzulie, tonight's your night. Ain't nobody gonna be cold under the lover's moon. This is your night I think, ye look after them, ya hear," she said seemingly to the candle. With the help of her cane she stood again. "And you, Maman Brigitte," she said scornfully, directing her attention to another of the colored candles, pointing her finger accusingly, "I wonder what ye and yar Ghede have up yar sleeves this night. You and me," she said softly. Slowly, she began to move to the ancient rhythms, casting off her cane, the beads around her neck clacking noisily as she danced.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
"I-I didn't think you'd come," Charlotte stammered, taken by surprise by the shape approaching her in the darkness. She had been standing by the big double wooden doors of the kitchen house idly, wondering if she had made a grave mistake and had just began debating whether or not she should just retire for the night when she saw the figure emerge from the darkness.  
  
"Neither did I," he said, sounding somewhat confused. "I don't know why I'm here," he admitted with a small and unconvincing chuckle.  
  
"The moon," the woman answered with a stunning smile that knocked the breath straight from Horatio's chest, pointing upwards. "There's a ring around it. Old Mother calls it the lover's moon, she says it makes people do strange things, things they wouldn't do otherwise."  
  
"Do you believe in it?" he asked tentatively.  
  
"The moon, no," she replied cocking her head to the side slightly and her eyes drifting far off into the distance, "the other things, they call it vodoun, your people call it voodoo, I don't know. I cannot explain the things I've seen in my dreams, your friend."  
  
"I had a dream too," Horatio offered cautiously, "last night, about Archie. About you."  
  
"The spirits of the dead are all around, us all the time," Charlotte said deeply, "that's what Old Mother tells me. I don't know, I've never seen one...until now, until the dreams. I think it is your guilt that anchors him to you, or love. They're funny that way, the dead."  
  
Horatio frowned. She spoke so matter-of-factly of it, of things that should never be spoken, to him as if she were an equal. But her eyes were so distant now, under some spell she stood.  
  
"The wind is picking up," she said suddenly, "I can feel it through my clothes." She ran her hand across her exposed upper chest, wiping the sweat away tugging at the white cotton of her loose fitted blouse. It was the atmosphere of this place, Horatio tried to tell himself, that made him watch her with lecherous interest then avert his eyes in guilt, the steamy, sweaty, gothic atmosphere of evening in this damnable place. The feeling he should not wander too far into the darkness as something might grab him and pull him in. The dampness in the air hung heavy, preventing him from breathing as deeply as he would have liked, or was it something else that was taking his breath away?  
  
"Why?" he asked finally. He had so many questions. "Why do this? Why care? Me, Archie, we're nothing to you. Nothing."  
  
"I watched you in dreams," she replied airily. "For about a month now, I've watched you in my dreams. I want to care; I want to know you, him, why you stand over his grave so morosely. As close as I get, I can never hear what he's saying, I suppose it is meant for you only. I'm not like them you know; you can see it in my face. My Daddy was a white man, like so many of the others. Did you ever feel you didn't belong? You were...out of place?"  
  
Horatio thought again of Archie and how welcoming he and Clayton had been in an otherwise terrifying situation. Clayton. Old memories and new wounds surfaced.  
  
"In my dreams sometimes I felt like I belonged, to you, with you," she amended. She laughed. "I don't know why I'm telling you this. You must think us all completely out of our minds. You came all this way, sneaked onto the property just to have me going all poetic at you. Come, they'll be waiting for us."


	3. Interlude 1 ~ Lover's Moon

The sun set in brilliant gold, illuminating the ocean in a multitude of breathtaking colors and a murky purple dusk settling in across the land. Lady Anne watched from the balcony of her and Sir Edward's guests' quarters at The Chase.

"Come look at the sight, love" she called provocatively to her husband. He smiled as he took her hand and kissed it lovingly.

"I've seen those sights endlessly for the past six months," he told her, pulling her to him, wrapping his arms around her waist. "It's this sight I'm interested in taking in." He kissed her long neck sensuously, breathing in her scent, lilacs and cedar.

"Mmmmm," Anne breathed deeply. "There's something in the air tonight, Edward. Can you feel it? There's a lovers' breath in the breeze this evening. Can you taste it, love?"

"I can indeed," he smiled taking his wife's face in his hand and tasting of her lips, slowly, sweetly. "Come inside now, Anne," he beckoned and led her to the bed.

She laid herself out on the feather mattress leisurely, slightly propped up against the pillows, her arm behind her head resting against the large ornate carved wooden headboard. She reached her arm out to him and he gladly accepted, placing small, nipping kisses along her palm and wrist as he settled the weight of his body on top of hers, his face looming over her blooming bosom.

"Not as young as we used to be, are we, Ted?" she said teasingly, running her finger against a streak of gray in his dark hair.

Slowly, he moved his hand up to her cheek, massaging it gently. She turned her head and kissed his palm, saucily flicking her tongue against his roughened skin. Her eyes were like starlit jewels in the darkening room, the dim flickering candlelight dancing in them as they searched his face. He smiled his wry smile at her and reached up to undo her hair. A curtain of gold streaked with silver cascaded down.

"I'm feeling as young as ever right now, my sweet," he said in a low growl, brushing her satiny locks from her bosom and pressing his lips to the ample fragrance flesh of her cleavage, the tops of her soft breasts peaking from above her dress. He placed feathery kisses against her skin, darting his tongue lightly between the two generous swells of his wife's breast. He placed his hand against one and delighted in the response he could still evoke from her body as her nipple peaked beneath the thick fabric of her gown and she gave a little soft gasp.

At a leisurely pace, he sat her up and, snaking his arms around her, began to undo the buttons of her frock. He ran kisses up and down her slender neck as he slid the gown from her shoulders.

"Ted..." she whispered breathlessly.

He looked into her face, and, finding it flushed with desire, his movements became more urgent as he stripped her of the dress. Only her lacy camisole stood between her now eager body and the burning touch of her husband's clever hands. Once again he grasped her breasts, working the rosy shadows of her nipples deftly with his thumbs through the flimsy material, coaxing them to rigid little peaks. A moan escaped her gently parted lips and he crushed his mouth against hers, his tongue thrusting in roughly, playing with hers, inviting it with soft flicks to mate with his. Her trembling fingers were unbuttoning his waistcoat, pushing it over his shoulders and arms, untying his neckerchief and pulling his shirt over his head. She ran her hands across his chest, relishing in the feel of his muscles reacting, contracting, under her gentle caress. His skin was hard and tanned from the sweltering Jamaican atmosphere, and his body still as robust and taut as the day they'd first met.

He undid the buttons at the breast of her chemise and eased it over her shoulder. No sooner had the hardened bud of her nipple been exposed to the humid night air than her husband began playing with it with the tickling touch of the tip of his tongue. She gasped at every soft kiss and suck he placed upon the stiffened nub before he drew it between his lips and suckled her fiercely. She moaned loudly, tangling her fingers in his hair and pulling him deeper into her burning flesh. His rough hand, meanwhile, was making its way up her leg underneath her chemise, gently caressing her stockinged calf, the back of her knees, her thigh. He reached the top of her stocking and thrust his fingers in-between the silk and her sensitive skin, stroking the inside of her thigh.

"Edward, love," she murmured excitedly, "our separation was a long one, and I am not as patient as you."

"Patience is a virtue, my lovely," he grinned as his fingers grazed the golden curls that hid her femininity.

"Edward..." she gasped warningly, placing her arms around his neck and arching her back invitingly. He spread her moist folds with his fingers and moved inside. "Oh Edward," she moaned, as he worked her with his skilled fingers, rubbing the bud of her womanhood until she writhed beneath his touch. She took his face in her hands and brought it up to hers for. He ran his tongue along her bottom lip, before tugging it gently between his teeth and claiming her mouth in a rough and seeking kiss.

He loved his wife very much and had longed for her company for some time but not since his youth had he felt such an urgency to have her, to take her, to be inside of her. There was something about the air that night, a lazy sort of lustful atmosphere. He smiled against her lips as his fingers curious and hungry play against her wet silken skin made her moan deep within her throat. She was slick, she was tight and she was ready for him.

Quickly, he removed his britches and braced himself between her soft parted thighs. His eagerness grew as he felt himself rub against her feminine core, his composure was quickly crumbling under the thought of plunging himself into her. He grasped her hips and moved her into place, thrusting in to the hilt, relishing the feel of filling his wife with every last inch of his ample, rigid manhood. She cried aloud once and then again as he withdrew almost to the edge and pushed back in with greater power. He found a steady and forceful rhythm as he moved on her, her hips moving to meet each of his greedy penetrations.

It had been long since they'd made love and even longer since he'd made to her this vigorously and she was enjoying ever last delicious moment of it. She felt her climax build relentlessly as his movements became more and more frantic, his desperation for release growing. She arched her back to fully receive him and he responded by making his penetrations harder and faster. He looked down on his beloved wife, her eyes closed, her lips gently parted as soft cries flew from them, urging him on in low yet ecstatic tones, whimpering lightly at the fantastic sensations that were coming over her. Her golden hair was spread across the pillows and sweat glistened upon her delicate skin. He put his mouth to her slender throat, nuzzling with his lips and nose and tongue as he felt the first delicious shudders of her pleasureful peak ripple through her body.

Sparks flew before her eyes, more like fireworks and delight washed over her in waves as her body convulsed around him, her muscles tightening around him sending him over the edge. With a rough growl he thrust once, twice, thrice more and spent himself inside of her. He was panting heavily as he rest his head against her breast, not daring to withdraw from the delicious warmth of his wife. She stroked her hair delicately, smiling in the peace and passion of the aftermath of their union.

"I thought patience was a virtue, Sir Edward," she cooed and he gave a short bark of laughter.

"Not when one is loving you, my dear," he told her smoothly, his coarse voice a low gentle growl against her bosom.

"Ted, look at the moon," she gasped, glancing towards the opened verandah doors. A pale shimmering flood of moonlight filled the room like liquid silver, making its way across the polished wooden floor to where they lay upon the bed. "Have you ever seen a thing of such beauty?"

He glanced up at her face, luminous in the soft glow, and smiled, "Aye, I have, my Lady."

"Edward, what has gotten into you tonight?" she gently teased and he answered her with delicate little kisses along her breast down to her belly. He parted her thighs and lifted her calves until they rested upon his shoulders as he descended his mouth upon her. She moaned deeply as his tongue tasted of her dewy skin, gently lapping at her, nibbling and suckling at her nub of desire. Again, her husband took her to the height of bliss, making love to her with his mouth as the moon traveled steadily across the velvet night sky.


	4. Chapter 3

_'They'_ were a rather large gathering of slaves, some from The Chase, others from neighboring plantations, slaves sneaked off without their masters permission, who would be beaten within an inch of their lives if their absence as well as their night time activities were ever found out. They were dancing rhythmically, some moving enthusiastically while others just swayed slightly to the beat of drums. A make shift alter stood in front of them and the light from the colored candles cast ghastly, frightening shadows around them. The sight of the spectacle horrified Horatio and yet he could not look away, he was transfixed, enchanted. He had no idea where he was, where he had been led, the darkness cloaking their path. The tall, lank servant who'd led him into the ballroom the night before, Bones, was there, as was a small crone like old woman, her face twisted with wrinkles, the colorful rows of beads around her neck clacking together wildly as she danced nimbly to the rhythm.

"Old Mother," Charlotte whispered in Horatio's ear as if that should mean something and proceeded to pull him into the light.

He feared uncomfortable stares but got none. Quite the opposite, everyone seemed so caught up with their movement they paid him no attention what so ever save for the one called Old Mother, who turned her one milky white blind eye and one brown one to him and looked him up and down.

She laughed a wheezing toothless sort of sound and addressed Charlotte, "I told you he comes. Old Mother and the Doctor, we are never doubted. Come, boy!" she said this time addressing Horatio. She pointed an accusatory finger at him, "Kennedy is here, he speaks with ya though you have not the ears to listen. He talks wit the Doctor though, he tells him things and the Doctor talks wit me. You blame yarself, boy, not only for the sacrifice Archie made for you but for not seeing his wound earlier. You think you could have saved him."

Old Mother reached out to grab his arm and he recoiled in horror. The old woman just laughed. "T'ain't gonna bite, boy. The spirits, they all `round tonight! They jumping and twisting and speaking in me and don't you be afeared of it. The Doctor, he dancing tonight."

"Who's the Doctor?" Horatio asked Charlotte in a breathy undertone.

"Old Mother's late husband," she replied. "He died when I was a child."

"Come dance, stranger," Bones smiled though by the light of the candles the gesture looked somewhat ominous. He was wearing a work tunic tied at the waist by a rather gaudy blood red sash and loose ankle breeches, his bare feet moving gracefully across the sandy ground as if he were enchanted. "Come dance the Banda, the dance of the dead!"

Horatio could see clearly now the gangly man's face was painted with ash to simulate the sunken cheeks and eye sockets and the jagged exposed teeth of a corpse. He was wondering now just what exactly he'd gotten himself into when he felt Charlotte slip her slender hand into his and lead him forward. Two women came forward and removed his uniformed jacket. He blushed as they began unbuttoning his waistcoat and drawing that away as well.

"Perhaps you meet a friend or two of yours," Bones laughed. "Tonight, Ghede favors you."

Old Mother's body began to move as a body of her weight and arthritic age was never meant to move and the others began to gather around her. Her beads were clacking wildly and her eyes seemed distant, almost vacant.

"A lot of guilt you carry, boy," she pointed a finger at Horatio. "Many ye've lost along your way, but Archie, he worries for you. He says you live wit the dead."

"Is Archie here?" Horatio asked tentatively and Old Mother laughed, a thin wheezing sound of a thing.

"He always here, boy!" she chastised. "You just need the eyes to see and the ears to hear! He made the choice, he does not regret it but it pains him to watch you suffer so much fer him."

`Nonsense,' Horatio thought at first, `I should leave now before this gets out of hand, before they kill me.' But slowly something inside of him became alive with awareness. Maybe he was imagining it, but he felt as if Archie was there with him, touching his shoulder gently. "Does he forgive me?" he asked, his voice small with pain. "For what I've done, what he sacrificed for me?"

"Boy, he ain't never been mad at ye," Old Mother said gently, taking his hand. "T'ain't nothing to forgive. What ye did, he say, ye felt yar had to do, for the good of them all, understand?"

Wetness drenched Horatio's cheeks and he realized dumbly that his tears were flowing freely. He'd never cried, not like this, not even when he'd lost Mariette, Clayton or Archie. He felt freed as if he could breathe again after months of holding his breath. He fought hard to retain his stoic stature but Charlotte could see the tears and the dark veil of despair lifting from his shoulders and eyes.

"Horatio," Old Mother said, "life is for the living, that's what Archie, he say to me. You'll have your chance to join him soon enough."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Horatio had no idea how much time had passed (Minutes? Hours perhaps?) before he felt Charlotte's gentle tugging on his arm, urging him away.

"Midnight comes," she told him and when he frowned, she explained, "It's almost the dark time. The first half is for the living, the second for the dead. We do not belong here anymore and you do not want to see what they will do when the hour comes."

They stole back across the darkened lawns. "I forgot my jacket," he said, glancing over his shoulder briefly.

"I'll bring it to you tomorrow," she scowled back, ducking into a nearby building and pulling him along with her.

It was a barn, dark and dank and smelly. Horatio could hear the cattle lowing gently being disturbed out of sleep by the two intruders. Horatio, now feeling relieved of a burden he'd carried far too heavily, was feeling giddy, almost excited by the pagan spectacle he'd just witnessed. Charlotte seemed anxious though happy to be away.

"We stayed too long. The dark time had already started to begin."

Horatio, light headed, laughed at her. He put his hands on her shoulders and stared deeply into those lovely eyes of hers. "You're beautiful," he said candidly, unaware he was saying the words even as they fell from his lips. Her tensed muscles seemed to relax under his sturdy grasp.

"You've gone silly in the head," she laughed at him, her scowl slowly fading. "You don't know what you're saying."

"That may be so," he told her, his smile disappearing as he lowered his face to hers, "but I like saying it. More than I've ever fancied saying anything before in my life. Everything seems to be... spinning, going `round my head in circles. Tell me now if you think me a fool, now before it's too late and I do something I really ought not to."

His eyes were luminous in the murky darkness as he studied her face. She touched him gently, her fingertips to his chin. He moved his head so his mouth, his full sensuous lips caught her palm and kissed lightly. Her knees quivered under the sweet gentle pressure of the intimate touch.

She closed her eyes to steady herself and felt his lips trailing to her wrist, making her tremble slightly as she tried to tell him reasonably, "You should be getting back. They'll be missing you if..." Her voice trailed off into a moan as he lowered his mouth to her neck, wrapping his arms around her slender waist and pulling her closer. She felt the warm spread of his large hands at her lower back. "Shhhh," she said suddenly, "did you hear that? That'll be the grounds keeper, Mr. Arnauds. The cattle lowing must have caught his attention. He's absolutely bent upon discovering the servants celebrating their native rites, his every thought dwells on it. Come, we must hide. Up in the loft."

"But why must we hide?" Horatio whispered, the giddiness still clear in his voice as Charlotte dragged him towards the loft ladder.

"And would you like to explain to him why you're trespassing and what we're doing in here?" she hissed as they reached the top and hid themselves among the hay.

They watched through gap in the wooden planked floor as the barn door opened and an older man stepped in cautiously, waving a pistol about in one hand. "Anyone in here?!" he barked nastily, squinting against the darkness to see. "Stealing pigs again, eh?" he snarled, a drunken tone to his voice. "Well, I'll catch you eventually, then I'll make Mrs. Abigail see. Disgusting, filthy creatures, I'll get you soon enough my darlings, then I'll see you hung from a tree." He fired his pistol into the air, rattling the birds asleep in the rafters, then left slamming the door behind him as he left.

Charlotte heaved a sigh of relief and relaxed against the hay. "Bones," she explained. "Sometimes he takes pigs from the pens... for the rites, the rites you weren't to see."

"Why does he bother you so?" Horatio frowned. "Surely a pig here and there..." It didn't sound convincing, even to him. He had no idea what Bones used the pig for nor did he ever care to find out. For an instant, he wondered if any this was such a good idea.

"He argued against Master Gabriel's wish for us to be freedmen," she explained softly. "He thinks it's dangerous for us to govern ourselves, to learn to read, not just breaking our backs out in the fields. He fears another revolution, like on the other islands. He has special contempt for the house servants because Mrs. Abigail insisted on our education. I run a school, a small one," she admitted bashfully when Horatio flashed her a stunning grin, "for the children of the field. I love children and they're so eager to learn...everything," she laughed. "If he caught me here, he'd shoot me on sight for sure. He's whipped Bones before. Mrs. Abigail doesn't know about it or else she'd see him whipped as well. I'm surprised his dogs did not hinder you while you sneaked on the property. Viscous things, they are, just like the master who raised them! He won't be happy until he sees all our necks stretched from a nearby tree, like he was allowed to do when Mrs. Abigail's father was still alive." A noticeable shiver ran down her spine. "I wasn't born yet but Old Mother tells us of those days. Sometimes I ask her 'Old Mother, just how old are you?' and she just smiles and laughs and tells me: 'Younger than the south wind, older than the waves on the shore.' Never quite figured out what she meant, she never gives a straight answer. What about you? You seem pretty young for a captaincy. I've seen a lot come and go," she said off his look, "and none were like you. They were all grizzled and world weary," she screwed her face up in mock seriousness and made Horatio laugh.

He reached out and undid her hair, letting the black silken length of it fall across her shoulders and bosom and spread out across the hay around her. He ran his fingers through it, enjoying the feel of it, the smell of cloves that emanated from her.

"It's something I never even knew I wanted," he replied then he blushed, "the captaincy, I mean. I only joined the navy to please my father. The first months were...abysmal to say the least," he scoffed. "Then Clayton died and Archie.... we were very good friends. He helped me find my footing. I realized this is where I wanted to be, this is what I wanted to do, and I was good at it, for the most part," he admitted with a grin. "Did I already tell you were beautiful? Yes, I did and you said something about the moon."

Charlotte chuckled, running her hand through a silvery beam of moonlight that seemed to be emanating from some unseen hole in the barn roof. "Do you know what makes it so special? It's the second full moon in one month; they call it a blue moon. I read that in a book, it's very rare. Once in a blue moon," she smiled, shifting uncomfortably at the Captain's growing closeness, not just physically but now emotionally.

She heard the hay rustle and felt the heat of Horatio's body settle next to hers, then the weight of his gentle hand on her breast. Her nipple hardened under her blouse against his sensitive caress, his thumb stroking firmly through the flimsy fabric. "Captain Hornblower," she groaned breathlessly.

"Horatio, Charlotte," he corrected softly brushing his lips delicately against hers, "for God's sake, call me Horatio."

Charlotte parted her lips instinctively as he crushed his mouth to hers, his tongue exploring passionately, drawing hers into a wicked dance. He shifted his weight so he was on top of her, using one hand to pull her blouse from the waistband of her skirts and slipping it beneath to fondle her soft bare skin. He cupped her breast, squeezing her hardened nipple playfully, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, making her gasp out loud. Without thought, she arched her pelvis upwards to meet with the hardness beneath his breeches and rub against it sensuously, invitingly.

"Horatio," she moaned desperately as he lifted her blouse and put his mouth to her breast, running his tongue teasingly around the dark plump bud at first then drawing it between his lips and suckling fiercely, occasionally nipping gently with his teeth, careful not to hurt her. Her blood was on fire and she heard pleas falling from her lips like water trickling from a fountain. Desperately, she grasped at his shirt, almost ripping it from his body until he sat up and allowed her to pull it over his head. Her breath caught in her throat, he was beautiful, muscularly slender and tanned.

He smiled as she spread her cool hands across his bared chest. He watched her with his big brown eyes as he shifted her skirts up to her waist. Her knees fell apart instantly at the slightest brush of his wicked fingers, and his hands spread her thighs as his head disappeared between them. He parted the nest of curly hair he found there with his thumbs and descended into the waiting succulent moistness of her womanhood. She cried out loud now; cries of pleasure, passion, love, and devotion, unaware of what she yelling and uncaring if it brought Mr. Arnauds back as he pleasured her sensitive, tingling flesh, teasing the bud of her raw desire with a wanton flicks of his devilish tongue and drank from her leisurely. She grasped at his now loose curly brown hair as she felt every nerve in her body tingling with eager anticipation and pleasure. Delight washed over her in waves, threatening to drown her in its overwhelming sensuality.

Once again he suspended himself over her body, this time fumbling with the lacing of his breeches. "Horatio," she said hesitantly, biting her lip, her face flushing with embarrassment, "I've never... lain with a man before." He leveled her gaze at her, his soft eyes boring into her soul. He kissed her softly.

"I'll be gentle," he said in the most heart wrenchingly gentle tone, "I promise." The truth of the matter was, he was hardly the experienced one himself, there had just been the once before and he'd felt awkward then though now instinct and lust guided him on. He heard a sharp intake of breath escape her throat as he removed his breeches.

His beautiful manhood stood stiffened against his muscular thighs, more than eager and willing to go. Hesitantly, she reached out and stroked him. His wild groan reverberated through her every sense as she softly and shyly caressed the ample length of him. He felt like warm velvet over steel against her palm and hardened even further beneath her pleasing touch. He pulled her hand away reluctantly and poised himself at the entrance of her body and thrust in, slowly, gently, aware of the resistance, her virginity giving way to his penetration. He gasped loudly, feeling himself enclosed in her soft warm skin. She bit her lip hard as the most intimate pleasure mingled with acute pain, making her thrash her head back and forth at the unbelievable sensation of it all. He waited a moment for her body to adjust to his violent invasion then began to thrust into her, burying himself deep inside of her, his desperation and pleasure evident in the deep low groans that escaped his throat. She ground her hips instinctively against him, meeting each of his penetrations and her back arched, inviting him deeper inside each time, making her cry out in delight. She felt a line of firecracker ignite along her spine as his rhythm increased. Her womb tightened and the firecrackers exploded inside her until she felt she was seeing stars before her dazed eyes. He felt her warm skin tighten around his throbbing flesh and his lips met hers as he followed her climax, spilling deep inside her. He collapsed on top of her, exhausted, burying his face in the hollow of her slender neck and nuzzling her sweat glistening throat tenderly.

"Horatio," she breathed softly, a voice a panting whisper. "Shhhhh," he countered softly, his breath hot against the tingling skin of her neck. No words needed to be said, not then not there as they lay in each other's intimate embrace.


	5. Chapter 4

He was vaguely aware that the drumbeats in the distance had stopped, the pagan celebration had ended though his sweet communion with Charlotte continued as he lay with her in his arms his unabashed nakedness pressing against the soft skin of her bare backside. He kissed her shoulder gently, burying his face in the pile of her hair, breathing deep the smell of smoked cedar wood and sandalwood.

"What about you, Charlotte?" he muttered into the tender skin of her neck. "What do you want? Will you stay on the plantation? Or are you saving your pay to leave on day? Start a school one day maybe?"

"I've never really thought about it," she replied drowsily as his hand slipped around her torso to caress her belly, "The Chase has always been my home. And Mrs. Abigail..." she stopped herself, biting her lip. She turned her head part way so Horatio's seductively full lips met her cheek. "She's always been good to me. We're family, you know. Her father was mine as well, so she feels a responsibility for me." She lifted her hand and brushed his chin with her fingers as he shot her a confused glare. "It's not uncommon, Horatio, for a master to lay with one of his slaves." She turned her face away again, trying to hide the sudden sharp pain she felt in her heart, "Whether the slave was willing or not."

"Your mother," Horatio said softly, closing his eyes, trying to shake the horrifying image she'd just given him. He pulled her more tightly to him, trying to banish the thought of what might have happened to her had their former master lived, the torture she would have endured, the indignities. He kissed her shoulder tenderly again, this time letting his tongue skirt across the exposed skin. She twisted in his arms and came to face him smiling, giving him, a quick kiss on the mouth.

"Did we do it right, Horatio?"

"It certainly felt like it, didn't it," he said with a grin.

"How many other women have you had?" she asked, giggling as he nuzzled her throat. "Come on now tell me, be honest then!"

"Oh, dozens," he replied teasingly.

"Dozens?!" she repeated disbelievingly, laughing.

"Maybe hundreds, I can't quite be sure," he shrugged with mock casualness. "there were so many, you know, it's hard to keep track of them all!"

She laughed giving him a playful shove. "You're teasing me!" she pouted. "I won't talk to you if you tease me!" She wriggled in his arms as if she was trying to break their embrace but he was having none of it. He held onto her tightly kissing what bare skin his lips were exposed to. She was giggling, tickled by his mouth's light dance over her flesh. "You're being very wicked!" she cried, scrunching her nose as he laid his body atop hers once again, pinning her to the itchy hay covered floor.

His eyes turned suddenly serious and deep as he told her, "There was only one other, and it wasn't like this." His intense gaze burned holes in her as he kissed her passionately, slowly. Her lips parted instinctively, inviting his tongue in. "By God, it wasn't like this," he breathed. "Am I crazy? Is it just the moon?"

"I hope not for it means I must be afflicted as well," she sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck, savoring the feel of his muscular chest against the sensitive skin of her breasts and nipples. She realized they were now lying in the beam of light she'd run her hand through earlier though she still could not locate with her eyes the hole in the ceiling through which it was filtering. For a moment she felt hypnotized, unable to move. The air flowed thickly through her lungs and time stood still.

"Do you think it's almost dawn?" she began to say but was interrupted as a desperate cry broke the night.

They both froze in terror. The cry had been one of sheer horror followed by a small gurgling sound that sounded to Horatio a bit too much like a death rattle. He was the first to move, hastily replacing his breeches and shirt. She obeyed his lead, clumsily trying to pull on her blouse and skirts quickly and follow him down the loft ladder. The lawns and fields were pitch black as Horatio stumbled blindly towards the noise. He'd been in enough battles to recognize a cry like that; his heart thudded wildly in his chest. There was someone out here, someone dying. He tripped over something in the darkness, stumbling to his knees. He gasped in horror at what he saw on the ground beside him. A man, a white man Horatio remembered as a servant from the Chase from the party the other night, his eyes staring blankly out; glassy cold, his mouth gaping open in a silent scream. His throat was slit and his collar and all the surrounding ground was covered in his oily black blood.

"Stay back!" he warned Charlotte sharply.

"Why?" she asked apprehensively. "Horatio, what is it?" He heard her voice become thin with desperation and fear. "Horatio!" she was trying to keep to a whisper as to not draw attention and it rasped as she walked towards him. "Tell me what you found!"

He stood quickly and caught her by the shoulders to prevent her from moving any closer to the body. She caught sight of it anyway and Horatio had to cover her mouth with his large hand to stop her from screaming. She turned her head and buried her face in his shoulder, shaking violently. It was for the first time she noticed their height differences, he was about a foot taller than she, perhaps a little more. It would have seemed comical had the situation not been so grave.

"It's Raynier," she gasped out, feeling light headed. "The kitchen head, our supervisor, it's Raynier." She looked suddenly up into Horatio's face, her brow furrowing, "You have to leave! Surely his cry has woken the household, what would they think if they found you? Quickly, you have to go!"

He kissed her passionately and asked, "When can I see you again?"

"I don't know," she breathed rushedly, "soon. I promise." She kissed him back and watched as he darted across the lawns; until he was out of her sight before screaming, "Help! Help! Somebody, over here! Help me! Please!" Her cries turned to sobs as she knelt next to the man, touching his face, taking his hand. "Somebody, please help me. Please."

It didn't take too long for someone to find her. As she'd predicted, Raynier's cry had brought out the household, the men with their guns at the ready, the women tagging along in curiosity and fear. It was Arnauds' hands she felt clutching her shoulders painfully, pulling her away in one violent jerk.

"You, you bitch," he spat out hatefully. "I knew I'd catch you red-handed one of these days!"

"Me? You don't think...?" she managed to gasp. "It was probably your dogs, the bloodthirsty animals! They've ripped his throat out!"

"No, me darling," the frightening man grinned maliciously, "that was no work of my dogs, that was the work of a blade. Sliced him," he put his hand to his neck and made a `sccchhhh' sound as he dragged it across, "from ear to ear. An animal did this," he sneered contemptuously, "but it weren't me dogs." He raised his hand to strike her but was stopped by Abigail's harsh call.

"Do not touch her, Mr. Arnauds!" the woman screeched making her way as quickly as she could across the lawn in her nightshift and a woolen shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Sir Edward, bearing his pistol, followed quickly her behind.

"Do not come closer, my Lady," Arnauds warned, putting out his hand to stop her. "The sight is not pretty, ma'am. It is Mr. Raynier, he's been murdered and I found this pretty little duckling," he sneered at Charlotte, "hovering over the scene of the crime, ma'am."

If Arnauds' words had meant to strike suspicion into Abigail, they had quite the opposite effect. She wrapped her shawl around Charlotte's shuddering shoulders sympathetically and gently helped her to her feet.

"You must have had quite a shock, Charlotte. Come to the main house and we'll get you some tea. Come now, dear heart, courage."


	6. Chapter 5

Dawn bled slow crimson over the fields as Charlotte watched through the warped glass of a small kitchen window. Her shaking had stopped, mostly due to the herbs Old Mother had given her for her nerves, but her stomach still churned unsettlingly. She couldn't erase the image from her mind, even as she tried to close her eyes against it; Raynier's cold blank stare, the blood covering his chin and collar. They'd kept her at the manor house until she'd fallen asleep dead in her chair, exhausted and unable to answer any more prodding questions first from the members of the household, then from the constables who arrived a short time later.

Abigail had put her affectionately to rest in a guest room until Old Mother, hobbling against her cane, and Bones showed up to remove her to her own bed. Nightmares had plagued her and she rose an hour later, unable to stay still without sleep bringing to her terrifying images of violence and death. She was tired, she was scared and she was sore from the passionate loving she'd received so willingly from her brave captain last night.

Old Mother touched her on the shoulder tenderly and handed her a cup of greenish colored tea, made with a variety of strange and pungent smelling herbs. Charlotte dared not ask what was in it she just swallowed it down as the ancient woman told her, "It always hurts the first time, child, this will soothe the ache." Charlotte blushed deeply. The bent woman just shot her a familiar look as if to say, `Old Mother always knows'.

That's when Bones came sweeping in in a damnably enthusiastic mood, a grin plastered on his face and Horatio's waistcoat and jacket over his shoulders. He opened a cabinet nearby and swept out a jug of rum, pulling the cork from it and taking a giant swig. "Here's to Raunchy Raynie," he announced loudly, raising the jug, "may he plague us no more with his barking unreasonable commands and harsh punishments.

Arnauds is going to have to find himself another spy now!"

"Wicked boy!" Old Mother snapped scoldingly. "It's us who come under suspicion now, eh? Now they be wanting to know where we were all night, did ye think of that?"

"Maybe Charley can enlighten them," Bones replied, giving a nasty darting glance in Charlotte's direction, "as to what she was doing at the time, hidden away in the barn with her gawking naval hero."

"He thinks to shame me for something I hold no shame for," Charlotte replied indirectly, averting his glare. "Give me the jacket and the waistcoat, Bones. I promised Captain Hornblower I'd get them back to him today."

Bones removed the objects and looked as if for a moment he was going to hand them to her respectfully but at the last minute before they could reach her hands, he let go so they fell to the floor in a messy pile. "He don't think nothing of you," he said coldly, piercing her heart with his words, "just like your daddy didn't think nothing of your mother."

"Hush," Old Mother hissed, drawing back his hand and giving the boy a stinging thrash with her cane against his shins. "Wicked child," she said again, frowning deeply. Bones pouted for a moment then went back to his disgustingly jolly mood.

"Ye won't be laughing when they discover what we be doing out in the cove, eh?" Old Mother called as he left singing a rather bloody novelty song and dancing about, making sure to trounce on Horatio's uniform as he went.

"Maria Alva knew this was comin', I could see it in her eyes. She saw death. I tink I have to go to see the old witch today. She'll not be happy to see me," the ancient woman said in a resigned manner. Old Mother and Maria Alva, a slave from the neighboring plantation of Thrushfield Cross had not been on speaking terms for 50 years, when Old Mother married Maria's suitor, the Doctor.

Slowly, Charlotte bent, carefully and lovingly gathering Horatio's clothing, examining Bones' footprints and the small blood spots on them, she'd witnessed how the former got there, she didn't want to know how the latter got there. "They'll need to be washed before I return them," she sighed, just for one moment lifting the woolen jacket to her nose and inhaling deeply what she recognized instantly as Horatio's masculine scent.

With gentle care, Charlotte washed the uniform, scrubbing every single spot or stain from it. She dried in the morning sun and tenderly folded and wrapped them in plain brown paper. A professional cleaner would not have done better, nor would a new uniform have shined brighter or smelled as sweet. She'd been excused from the day's duties by Mrs. Abigail, which left her free to dress in her finest, a soft mint and cream striped dress and straw hat with a lovely mint colored ribbon, and walk into town. She'd no idea where he was staying; it hadn't exactly entered their conversation last night. So she decided to try the Kingstown port first. She found the Retribution docked there and gasped at the sheer largeness of it. Imagining Horatio at the command of the mighty vessel made her skin tingle, the image of its strong proud prow thrusting forward through the yielding waves, parting them so easily yet so violently as it plunged ahead... She suddenly felt a thrill shudder the skin on the back of her neck.

"Help you, love?" a rough but not unfriendly voice called from above.

She looked up to she a crewman ambling towards her; large and hulking with long slick hair and pocked skin.

"Yes, I'm looking for Captain Hornblower," she called back smiling and holding up the package she was carrying, "I've something for him."

"You'll find him in the Inn in town," the man answered helpfully. Charlotte thanked him and he bowed slightly, giving her a rowdy smile. Usually the harsh stares she received in public made her extremely uncomfortable but knowing that she was going to see him urged her on. Keeping her chin held high proudly she defiantly returned the nastily curious gazes and walked to the Inn, not caring about the eyes upon her from every angle. Her every thought occupied upon seeing him again. Everyone else could go to hell for all she cared, she thought as she barged through the door to the Inn.

"Captain Hornblower?" she asked the landlord.

"Whores come in around the back," the landlord growled without even giving her the benefit of glancing up at her as he spoke.

She slammed her package down on the counter with a resounding THUD, guaranteeing his attention as he looked up at her startled and she answered him keeping her voice steady and dignified, "From Myrtle Chase," she told him, indicating the square brown parcel. The landlord seemed to blush, noticing for the first time her fancy dress and proud manner.

"Er, yes," he stammered. "I'll get it to him right away." But as he reached for the package she pulled it just beyond his reach. "Right, you'll want to deliver it to him yourself," he grumbled. "Room seven. He's sleeping in late this morning so he should be in."

She nodded curtly and made her way up the stairs. `I'm going to see him again,' she thought, blocking out the black thoughts she was having about the landlord, `he's going to embrace me and I'm going to feel the rough ravages of his tongue in my mouth again and what they think of me, all of them, won't matter.' She adjusted her dress and hair fussingly then screwed up her courage and knocked on the door for room seven.

A scurry of heavy footsteps followed inside and she smiled in taught anticipation. The door opened and there he was, his mouth open about to speak but knocked speechless by the sight of her. He grabbed her and pulled her to him, kissing her hard.

"I'm so glad you're alright," he said, relief coloring his voice with a gentle sigh. "I shouldn't have left you. I thought that all the way back; I shouldn't have left you at their mercy. What are you doing here?"

She grinned and held up the parcel proudly. "I promised I'd bring them back to you. I've even had them washed, I did it myself."

He returned her grin and pulled her inside, closing the door behind him before taking the package from her hands. He was wearing on his breeches and his shirt, which hung loosely around his muscular chest opened and untucked, and just looking at him gave Charlotte a thrill. This was worth it; all the stares, the rudeness and assumption of the landlord. He tore at the brown paper and unfolded his jacket and waistcoat. He put the jacket up to his nose and inhaled deeply, smelling sandalwood and cloves.

"It smells like you," he said with a smile. "I like that."

She removed her hat and took a seat on the bed, amusing herself just by watching him dress; every graceful movement he made came under her watchful scrutiny. Who would have thought she would find the man just as beautiful dressing as she did when he was in a state of undress. She bit her lip as she studied him, though she could not understand for the life of her the English mentality, covering all of that sensuous flesh in layers of cotton and wool, she like watching his slender fingers work the fine buttons. She smiled as he turned to fancy himself in the long mirror and she got a good look at his firm bottom in his tight breeches.

He turned to her, adjusting the collar of his shirt. She was leaning her head against the bedpost drowsily and watching him with dream-like passion. He crossed the room to her and took a seat next to her on the bed, cupping her face in both his hands and staring into her eyes intensely. He kissed her deeply, her lips parting in a sign of submission, allowing his tongue to ravage her mouth. He brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead lovingly.

"I worried on you all night," he told her deeply. "What they might think..."

"Mrs. Abigail stopped them from thinking it right away," she said, leaning gratefully into his warm embrace. He stroked her cheeks fondly with his thumbs and kissed her again in relief. "The constables are looking into it, they don't know anything yet." She sighed, letting him know how much she was enjoying his touch.

He laid her head against his chest and wrapped his arms around her, feeling the steady flow of her breathing. After a moment he became aware of the fact that she'd fallen asleep in his embrace. He smiled as he heaved her into his arms and laid her out on the large bed, shifting so his body lay parallel to hers on the lumpy mattress, his head on the pillow next to hers. She looked so peaceful; her breath escaping her gently parted lips in a soft rhythm. He kissed her temple, careful not to disturb her, guessing she hadn't had a decent rest all night. He blushed at the thought that that was partially his fault and grinned, remembering the ecstasy of the night before. He touched her hand, which draped casually over her stomach, softly, feeling her warm skin beneath his fingertips. He beheld her, content on just watching as dreams swept over her beautiful calm face, inhaling the scent of cloves and sandalwood that emanated from her, the smell of sex still fresh on her skin.

Memories whirled around in his captivated mind, the feel of her soft thighs around his hips, the unbelievable bliss of being inside her, her cries of pleasure, his cries of pleasure, the smell and taste of her skin, the way the hay tickled their naked flesh, the way she nibbled on the fullness of his bottom lip. This is what it felt like; to want to spend the rest of your life with one woman, loving her, emotionally and physically, growing old together. He ignored that usually dominant part of his brain, the one that worked on reason alone, nagging him that this was impossible and what would people think. At that moment, he didn't give a bloody hell what others would think, he just wanted to be with her. He wanted to watch her sleep, wake up and see her beside him in the morning.

But there were other memories of last night, ones he couldn't quite get a grasp on. He frowned. They were fleeting, like apparitions at the corners of his eyes, which fled whenever he turned his head to get as better look. He'd danced with them, in the ritual, Old Mother had moved as if possessed and spoke in tones and languages of things she should never have known. 'We've stayed too long already,' Charlotte's voice echoed in his brain. Too long for what? He couldn't remember. The first half is for the living, the second for the dead. Suddenly an image of Bones in his ashen make-up appeared before his eyes. It danced and jeered, like a morbid jester at court. There was something he couldn't remember. A chill ran up his spine and he thought perhaps he didn't want to.

Charlotte stirred quietly, her eyes fluttering open gently. She stretched languorously like a cat and Horatio felt a provocative stirring in his groin, watching her body twist and listening to her soft sighs as she woke. She blinked and turned her head to him, smiling as she wiped the sleep from her eyes.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Some time," he answered, brushing a strand of hair that had come loose from her bun from her forehead. "Couple of hours maybe."

"Have you been watching over me all this time?" she smiled drowsily.

He nodded sheepishly. "You just looked so restful. You look lovely when you sleep." He frowned. "Will you get in trouble for it?"

"I've been given the day off," she responded with a wistful grin. She turned so she was on her side facing him and pressed her body into his. The stirring in his groin became an acute throb as he felt her curves even through the thick layers of their clothing, the softness of her rounded breasts against his chest. His mouth went dry. "They won't miss me at all," she said huskily, playing with the buttons of his waistcoat.

It took all the strength he had to pull away from her, sit up and slide off the bed. She sat up and frowned at him, "What's the matter," she asked, her bottom lip turning in a distinct pout. "Don't you want me again?"

His throat was almost too dry to speak and his words came out harsher than he'd anticipated. "Good God, of course I do," he said hoarsely. But not like this, how could he explain it to her. They were so different, came from two completely different worlds, believed in such different things. Would she understand? Would she know he only wanted to avoid dishonoring her that he loved her so much and that's why he wouldn't lay with her? But he already had, hadn't he? He'd already taken what she had never offered to another man before.

She shifted her legs slightly as she sat there so they spread apart, the fabric of her dress dipping provocatively between her parted thighs and leaned backwards on her elbows, curving her back in an innocent invitation, her bosom straining against the tight material of her bodice. An ache grew in him, to seize her and satisfy himself with what she was offering, to satisfy her.

"Charlotte..." he managed to gasp out, licking his parched lips.

She scuffled on her knees over to the edge of the bed where he stood and wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling his muscular form closer to her. "But why?" she asked with girlish naiveté.

He groaned, feeling her warm touch around his now alert body. "Because I love you," was the best explanation he could offer.

"But if you love me, why won't you make love to me the way you did last night?" she sighed.

"I want to Charlotte," he told her tenderly, cupping her face in his hands. But that nagging voice of reason was tugging at him again, pulling his head in a different direction from what his body was begging him to do to her. "I want to."

"You think too much," she frowned, leaning higher on her knees so her face reached his and she could brush her lips seductively against his. He took her mouth in a forceful kiss, his tongue ravaging her in its wet rough caress. Before he knew what he was doing, his hand found her breast, cupping; grasping gently yet insistently. She gasped out loud, making his senses jump in excitement. "If you love me, show me," she whispered against his lips. "Make love to me, Horatio."

For a moment, the instinct towards pleasure overruled reason as he kissed her, heavily, needily. His hot touch on her skin was greedy, massaging and caressing her ample bosom through the fabric of her dress. She was on fire and she felt wetness seep between her legs; her desire for him. She tried to pull him down on the bed with her but once again he resisted, breaking their embrace again.

"I don't want to be like your father," he snapped sharply, the words tumbling from his lips before he had time to think about them, trying to regain control of his trembling body. "I want to really love you, I want to marry you and give you a home. I want to love you like a man should a woman, to honor you properly."

"You have, Horatio," she said, biting her lip, "last night. Don't think, don't think this through. I'm here for you now, I want you now. I want you to be wicked as you were last night."

He breathed a heavy sigh as if fighting with his conscience, his English ideals and his desperate want for her colliding.

"Must I beg you for it?" she asked breathlessly and all his staunch reserve melted away.

He crushed her with his body weight, pinning her to the bed, kissing her desperately, trailing across her lips, then jaw, then the tender skin of her neck. He nuzzled the place where he felt her pulse resounding through her like thunder, then moved his tongue lower to the soft ample valley of her cleavage. She groaned loudly, the sound of her pleasure tightening the need within his breeches. He shackled her ankles tenderly with his large hands and made his way up across her stockinged calves, massaging gently as he rounded her knees. Her legs fell apart invitingly at his touch and he continued upwards to her thighs.

She spread her legs further with a soft moan, allowing him easy access to her throbbing sensitive core. She cried out loud as his fingers brushed her, arching her back off the bed in sheer delight. He probed her softly, lustily, caressing her burning flesh, his fingers deftly rubbing the throbbing bud of her desire, listening to her cries of rapture.

"Horatio..." she whispered her voice teetering on the edge of ecstasy.

He stood and hastily removed his jacket, trying desperately to undo the laces of his breeches quickly. After what seemed like an eternity he felt the last one give way and pulled them down, slipping out of them without thought. He lay atop her again this time the head his rigid manhood pushing against the entrance of her body, nudging her until it found the place to push in. Crushing his lips to hers he entered her with a long lustful thrust, grasping her thighs and positioning her underneath him to better align her hips with his greedy penetrations. He withdrew and thrust back in harder this time, more hungrily and he felt her cry against his lips. She met each of his desperate thrusts with a small circular motion of her pelvis, driving him mad. The sensation of being inside her was even more potent as it had been last night, her tight silken skin surrounding his member as he grinded himself into her, her muscles tightening around him.

"Oh God! Charlotte," he growled raggedly.

He gripped her waist tightly, his rhythm increasing frantically. She loved the feel of the coarse hair of his muscular thighs rubbing against her smooth skin as he pumped into her insistently and frenzied cries left her lips easily as the parks began at the back of her brain and worked her way down her spine until they exploded in her, her muscles convulsing around him and her wild cries of passion and release driving him to his final climax. She raked her fingers through his curly brown hair as he threw his head back and came, spilling deep inside of her, groaning madly.

"Do you want to know what true magic is, Horatio?" she asked, nuzzling his the delicate shell of his ear as he collapsed on top of her, his chest heaving violently. She smiled, stroking the back of his sweat glistened neck with one hand cupping his firm buttocks with the other and answered, "That was." She planted a small kiss on the sensitive area of his jaw just below his ear and he just grinned at her, too exhausted and spent to reply.


	7. Chapter 6

Charlotte would have been happy to just stroll along the white sand of the sunny beach, hand and hand with Horatio, but he seemed keen on seeking out the rougher areas of the coast, the places where the white froth of the waves hammered against jagged rocks, settling in churning pools between them. His long legs took him easily down the rocks, hopping from one to the other gracefully while Charlotte stumbled over her skirts. Every now and again he'd stop, take her firmly by the waist and help her down. The tide was low so they were able to find an outcropping of rocks worn smooth by countless years of the harsh water pounding against it. They sat there, Horatio on a lower rock so he could almost reach his boot to the salty water below, Charlotte cautiously a little higher up, her waist just at his head level. She smiled as she watched him gaze longing at the wide expanse of bright blue sea in front of them.

"I think your heart belongs out there," she laughed and he grinned up at her, leaning over and resting his head gently in her lap.

"My heart belongs right here," he said, cupping her knee in his hand and squeezing fondly. "I think this place has changed me," he said after a moment of silence, listening to the endless violent refrain of the waves against the shoreline. She ran her hands through his achingly soft brown curls, twirling them around her fingers, massaging his scalp. His hair felt like silk in her hands and she relished the gentle nuzzle of appreciation he gave her thigh and the low sigh that left his lips. "There's something in the air here, it clings to you, fills your lungs, tickles your senses like..."

"Magic?" Charlotte asked, raising an eyebrow and he chuckled.

"Yes," he said grinning, "magic. Do you like my hair, Charley?"

"I confess, I do," she said, giving it a playful tug.

"And my nose? Do you like my nose? I always thought it too big."

"I love your nose," she said scrunching up hers as he glanced up at her, resting his chin on her thigh. "I love the way it gets in the way when you kiss me, how you cock your head slightly when you take my lips to avoid its collision with mine. If you had a small nose, I shouldn't love you half as much," she teased.

"And what about my lips?" he asked provocatively.

She gasped. "Don't get me started on your lips!" She ran a finger along the plump expanse of his full lower lip and he sucked it into his mouth sensuously. "Your beautiful, full, kissable lips. What about me, my captain? What do you like about me?"

"I think," he said a mischievous gleam in his eyes as he leisurely suckled her fingertip, "my lady KNOWS what I like about her body."

"Wicked!" she chastised, giving his arm a gentle pinch through the thick woolen fabric of his jacket. She straightened her back until she was rigid and smirked slightly, making herself look very regal and proper. "Do you like my belly?"

He groaned, pressing his face into her stomach, nuzzling the cool material of her dress, "I adore your belly, and your neck and your ears and your shoulders and your collarbone and your bosom," he added with a distinct leer as he glanced up at her with those big beautiful innocent eyes of his. He wrapped his arms around her waist and, to the sound of her protest, pulled her down so she sat upon his lap. She looked warily down at the waves below and bit her lip. "Don't worry, Charley," she said softly into her ear, tightening his grasp around her torso, "I've got you, love. I wouldn't let you fall." He felt her relax against him with a sigh. She giggled like a child and leaned back into him, resting her head on his shoulder. "I've got something for you," he said and she felt him smiling wickedly as he pressed his lips to the ticklish skin just below her ear.

He withdrew a hand from around her waist for a moment and retrieved something from his pocket, raising his hand so it dangled in front of her; a golden ring dazzling in the sunlight on a brass chain. Her gasp was audible and she felt a chuckle rumble through his chest against her back. "It was my mother's," he explained as he removed it from the chain and took her hand in his, "and I want you to have it, Charlotte."

She couldn't answer; her tears flowed freely as he placed it with care upon her finger, entwining his fingers with hers as if to seal their silent pact. He kissed her wet cheeks softly, tasting the salt of her tears and whispered to her, "I love you, Charlotte, and I want you in every way it is possible for a man to want a woman, if you'll have me."

She sighed contentedly and leaned her body further into his, answering him silently, turning her head and reaching her hand back until it tangled in his soft hair, pulling him down by it until their mouths met. He kissed her passionately, running his tongue along her bottom lip seductively then pulling it between his teeth, oh-so-gently tugging.

"No matter what happens, Horatio, I'll always be yours," she murmured against his lips. She laid her head back on his shoulder and was pleased to just listen to the sounds of the crashing waves and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

"I've been thinking," he said; breaking the intimate silence, frowning thoughtfully, "about Raynier, about him calling out before he was killed. If someone approached him with the intention of murder, would he have had time to cry out? Or would they have just sneaked up behind him and gotten the job done before he had a chance to shout?"

"What are you thinking, Horatio?" Charlotte asked quietly.

"I think whomever murdered Raynier, it was someone he knew. They met in the darkness, maybe they argued, maybe it became physical and Raynier called out, for help perhaps. The murderer drew a dagger and..." He stopped himself, feeling Charlotte trembling in his arms. What was he thinking; she didn't need to relive this. He caressed her shoulder with a light kiss and told her, "I'm sorry, Charlotte, I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't," she said though he could feel her muscles tense considerably against his embrace. "Do you think it was someone from The Chase, Horatio?" she asked after a moment of silence. She couldn't bear the thought of someone she knew, someone she worked with everyday, possibly someone she cared for having that kind of blood on their hands, that kind of viciousness in their heart that they could take another life.

"I think... maybe," he answered quietly. The thought terrified her; she began to shake though she tried to fight it; to hide it from him. He wanted to show him how strong she was, how courageous, but her thundering heart betrayed her. "Shhhhh," he whispered to her, trying to soothe her slight shivering. "Let's away now, love. Tide's coming in. Don't want to be washed away, do we?"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"You seem distracted," Lieutenant William Bush observed as he supped with Horatio at the Inn, elegantly slicing a bit of his lamb from his plate and placing it in his mouth.

"Mmmmmm," Horatio said distantly, then, realizing he wasn't being very good dinner company, replied, "I've had a lot on my mind. I can't help but think on this thing that's happened at The Chase," he said leaning back in his chair and rubbing his chin thoughtfully. His full plate sat in front of him getting cold; he hadn't taken one bite.

"Mmm, your mind dwells on something at The Chase," Bush commented shrewdly, watching his friend with a note of amusement. At first he'd thought Horatio was still brooding on things he could not change; namely, Archie's death. But then Styles had told him a very interesting story about a young woman who'd come to the Retribution in search of her captain. 'A colored, but she didn't look like she weren't no slave,' the boatswain's mate had told him. William had deduced the rest; it hadn't been hard. Horatio had attended a party at a plantation manor populated by freedmen just the other night. "Mrs. Bennett is a very handsome woman," he commented with a shrewd cock of his head. "And her lands are quite attractive as well," he added shrewdly.

"Hmmmmm? Oh yes, I suppose so, haven't given it much thought," Horatio replied flatly. This made Bush frown. Had he been wrong? He was certain the girl had been a liaison between....ah yes, unless he was missing the most obvious conclusion. It was the girl herself. That must be the answer.

"You weren't in last night," Bush continued casually, regarding his friend's subtle uncomfortable shift in his chair. "I came to ask you if you wanted to share in a bit of libations but your room was vacant." He raised an eyebrow slyly. "Who is she?"

"Who is who?" Horatio muttered not sounding very convincing. "For God's sake, man, make some sense!"

"The beauty that came asking after you at the port today," Bush smiled cunningly, like the fox that had just caught the rabbit. Horatio scowled. "Styles told me of it," he admitted with an amiable shrug. "He told me she was quite the comely lass. Have you...?" he let the question hang in the air.

"I hardly find that a proper question, Mr. Bush," Horatio snapped, glowering.

"I was only going to ask if you've seen her much," Bush laughed. "Though I think you've just answered my second question, Horatio," he said with a wide grin. "Just warn me next time when you decide to sneak out so I don't make myself a fool knocking at your door at one in the morning," he grinned. "Is she lovely?"

"She's beautiful, Will," Horatio replied, with a bashful 'you-caught-me' grin. "Ravishing, radiant, exquisite." He couldn't find enough adjectives that would accurately describe his love.

"Mmmmm, "Bush nodded, impressed, "and does 'ravishing' have a name?"

"Charlotte, Charlotte Freeman," replied Horatio.

"I've always wondered what type was for our Mr. Hornblower," Bush smiled teasingly. "Perhaps now I find out?"

"That'll be enough, Mr. Bush," Horatio said firmly a hint of irritation evident in his voice.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Charlotte found the kitchen in a state of eerie calm. Most of the servants were at the main house serving supper, only Bones, Old Mother, who was leaning over the hearth chanting something softly and throwing something over the flame that made it turn blue, and a few dispirited others, sulking about, jittery with nerves and jumping at shadows as if at any minute Raynier's mysterious attacker could jump out of the darkness itself and assault them as well.

"How did your visit to Maria Alva go?" Charlotte asked Old Mother quietly to which the ancient woman just gave an emphatic `bah!' and, grabbing her cane, hobbled towards her chair at the far end of the room to have a sit.

Bones was sulking, his spirited mood from this morning obviously deflated, sitting on a stoop and taking slow small sips from his jug of rum. Charlotte took a seat next to him and he offered her a sip.

"Home made?" she asked and he nodded. She accepted and, taking a little swig, passed the jug back to him. "Drunk or sobered?" she asked softly.

He grinned widely and regretfully. "A little of both maybe. They'd be all too happy to lynch one of us, all of them, the moment Mrs. Abigail's back is turned, for it. The rites; Old Mother doesn't think we should practice them for a while, she thinks they're watching us much closer now and if they were to discover the cove... She's right."

Charlotte screwed her face into a scowl and did her best impersonation of Old Mother's thick accent as she told him, "Old Mother is always right 'bout these tings!" Bones laughed out loud and Charlotte's face went suddenly serious. "Bones," she asked tentatively, forcing the words from her mouth painfully; she didn't want to think it let alone ask it, "Did you do it?"

"Mayhaps I did, mayhaps I didn't," he answered with a frown. "Mayhaps it was Ghede himself, I can't say, but I promise you I did not touch the man last night, Charley."

She stared into the depths of his dark eyes, searching desperately for the truth. He wasn't lying to her, he couldn't lie to her, and she knew that. She sighed deeply, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"How was your captain today?" he asked, taking another swig from the jug. She just shrugged. "He treats you well?"

"Yes," answered Charlotte simply. She wanted to say `he treats me spectacularly, he makes me feel things I never even knew existed inside of me', but didn't feel the need to rub it in at the moment. She played with the ring on her finger, twirling it around and around with her thumb.

"You tell me if he's ever not... gentle with you, Charley, if he doesn't show you the respect we've earned, the respect a man should show a woman and, I swear to the Gods in heaven, I will kill him."

She placed her hand on his arm and gave it a gentle squeeze, smiling slightly, knowing full well that this time he wasn't lying or even joking. He gave her a kiss atop her head and threw an arm around her, hugging tightly. "I love you, you know that?" he said, stroking the length her silky hair tenderly.

"I know," she smiled. Suddenly, she frowned inhaling deeply. She put her hand to her mouth to stop herself from retching. "What is that smell?!"

"Old Mother," Bones replied with a smirk, nodding towards the bent old crone sitting alone in her chair in the corner. "She's been conjuring or whatever she does; sitting by that hearth all night, throwing things into the flames. She's put her cards away now anyhow, she's consulting the bones."

Charlotte shuddered. 'The bones' were a set of well worn sheep's knuckles that Old Mother only 'read' when she was worried or looking to conjure 'real majick', as she called it. Charlotte hated the bones, she couldn't remember why; a long lost childhood memory consciously or unconsciously buried deep within the recesses of her troubled mind. She glanced over at Old Mother who was rolling the heinous white objects across the floor in front of her while speaking quietly to herself, or more likely to the Doctor. She caught an unexplainable dark shadow moving blurringly in the corner next to the old woman out of the side of her eye, but when she turned her head to get a better look it was gone. Charlotte shivered.

"She's warding off the evil eye," Bones continued. "She found a packet filled with herbs at the door, that's what she threw in the fire. She thinks someone is working against her, us."

"Maria Alva?" Charlotte asked and Bones shrugged.

"Doubt it, not Auntie Maria. But someone. Someone close."


	8. Chapter 7

The wind gently blew through Charlotte, whipping her loose hair about her face and shoulders violently. Clouds passed quickly overhead, dark gray clouds ushering in a storm, obscuring the blinding sun. She felt the heat of Horatio's need touching her as he pressed his cheek against her stomach, scorching her through the thin material of her nightshift. His hands caressed her thighs and buttocks through the flimsy fabric, his lips parted seductively as he crushed his mouth against her belly. Archie was there behind her, laying a soft, tender hand upon her shoulder. He spoke, but this time she could hear what fell from his pale lips: "Take good care of him; he needs it."

Suddenly, a jolt of thunder split the thick air, lightening cracking and riding the humidity to the ground. The hand on her shoulder changed, the grip became stronger, more savage, brutal even. She reached down to hold Horatio but he was gone. Slowly she turned and found Raynier standing behind her, his throat gaping open, his eyes frozen in that same vacant stare. He raised his hand and pointed behind her but before she could turn again, she felt a hand across her mouth and the steel of a blade sliding effortlessly across the delicate skin of her throat. It was then she turned, grasping her throat in shock and horror, her eyes wide with fear, only to came face to face with herself. Or was it. The face twisted until it was not of her own but an evil pantomime of malfeasance. Was she now staring into the hollow eyes of Baron Cemetiere himself; the grim reaper? Ghede.

She awoke with a start, sitting up with a jolt and clutching her neck desperately. There was nothing there; it was only a dream. She sighed, leaning back against her pillow and trying to still her thundering heart. She inhaled deeply smelling... lavender? She reached under her pillow and pulled out a satchel, putting it to her nose to breathe deeply the sweet smell of lavender and cloves with a hint of garlic. She recognized this, she thought with a fond smile glancing towards Old Mother's sleeping restful form. Protection charms. Meddling old woman, she thought as she leaned over and gave her a small kiss on the cheek, careful not to disturb her.

A sudden soft yet unexpected knock sent her heart pounding again. Cautiously, she threw back the covers and moved towards the window. Still shaken by her dream, she didn't know what to expect; some ghostly apparition, a malicious attacker. She sighed when she saw it was only Horatio. As quietly as she could, she opened the window and laughed though concerned scowl remained on her face.

"Have you gone daft in the head?!" she scolded with a hoarse whisper as she leaned out the window frame. "What happened to that good old English reserve when it was actually called for? Have you been peeking into all the windows of the kitchen house just to find me?"

Horatio flushed, "One of the house servants told me which was yours. I needed to see you. I... had a dream and I needed to know you were alright." Her stomach churned. He had a dream as well? Had it been the same one?

"Do you know the way to the barn from here?" she asked, her whisper turning to a desperate rasp. He assured her he did and she replied, "Good, meet me there. I promise I won't be long."

The waning moon was obscured by thick clouds as she made her way across the darkened grounds of The Chase. Her callused bare feet felt odd against the rough ground and her toes seemed to find every rock to trip over in the blackness. She found the barn door slightly ajar and entered cautiously, calling as softly, "Horatio? Horatio, where are you?"

"Up here in the loft," came his reply and Charlotte had to feel her way in the darkness just to find the ladder. As she reached the top, she felt his sturdy hand grip her wrist and pull her the rest of the way and into his arms. He kissed the top of her head and stroked her hair lovingly, running his slender fingers through the long black silken strands. "Oh God," he groaned, the relief in his voice obvious, "oh God, it was so real. I dreamt of things I dare not repeat in fear of my saying them aloud will somehow bring them into reality."

She returned his caressing embrace, burying her face in the soft material of his shirt. "Shhhh," she soothed, "I had the dream as well, there's no need to speak of it. You shouldn't have come here, it's dangerous."

"I had to," he replied. He pulled her backwards so he was lying against the hay covered floor and she against his chest. "Good God it was so real," he let out a prolonged sigh. She could barely see him through the murky blackness, the night was giving up no secrets, but she could feel him; the heat of his body, the scent of his breath.

"Horatio?" she asked after a long silence, filled with nothing but the unsteady sound of his uneven breath. "What are you most afraid of?" She felt him shrug, could almost imagine the frown that must be touching his features, the furrowing of his brow. She stroked his strong arm, burying her face in the crook of his elbow.

Not being loved," he answered after a moment, then pondered on it and elaborated: "Being alone I suppose. What about you, Charlotte? What are you frightened of?"

"Death," she replied flatly without a second thought. "Ghede; Bones looks him in the eye and smiles, but I am afraid of him and his consort, Maman Brigitte." Unconsciously she fingered the raw scar on her lower palm, had she even known it was there before? Yes, of course she had. He noticed it too, frowning in a concerned manner, but said nothing of it much to her relief. Had he noticed it before, when they'd first made love?

"I'd never let anything happen to you Charlotte," Horatio said quietly. "Not so long as it was in my power to stop it."

"But it's not," she told him. "What will happen to us Horatio? Will you take me back to England?"

"I want to kiss you," he said distractedly and she felt the heat of his breath merely inches from her face, caressing her cheek.

"Would you marry me?" she continued, turning her face away from him. "Would you be shamed to be seen in public with me? Would I be relegated to being your mistress when you married a respectable woman?"

"Please let me kiss you," his voice was almost pleading, one hand running along the short expanse of her back to her bottom, the other cupping her chin and turning her face back towards his seeking hungry mouth.

"Have you even thought about it?" she whispered breathlessly. "Would you ever even walk up to the doors of The Chase in broad daylight and call on me; in front of Mrs. Abigail, in front of your friend, Commodore Pellew?" His lips were only inches from hers now, she could taste his breath. His hand sought hers in the darkness and squeezed it, feeling the cold of the ring he'd placed on her middle finger against her hot skin.

"I've given you my pledge, love," he said, his voice barely a whisper. He was excited, she could feel his desire straining against the fabric of his breeches as he pressed up against her thigh.

"I love you Horatio, do you understand that?"

"Yes and I would storm into Myrtle Chase, lift you off your feet and make love to you on the dining room table in front of Mrs. Bennett and Commodore Pellew if you asked me to." She laughed. "Now may I kiss you?"

She leaned her head back and his mouth instantly took hers in a bruisingly passionate kiss. Keeping his arms wrapped firmly around her and not daring to break their kiss as their tongues entangled and danced together, his left arm cradled under her head, his right slowly working her chemise up over her knees, then her thighs. He was amazed by her body's responsiveness to his touch, her legs quivered at the brush of his fingertips. She moaned against his lips, moving her hips against his seductively.

"Don't think, Charlotte," he repeated to her, "don't think this through. Teach me how to love you, my lady, show me what you like."

"Your touch," she said, smiling.

"Here?" he asked and insinuated a hand between her thighs, probing her wet sensitive core. A loud groan reverberating from deep in her throat was his answer. He began to stroke her, playing teasingly with the throbbing bud hidden within the black curls of her femininity. "Or here?" he asked, removing his arm from behind her head and slipping it under her nightshift, placing it on her breast. Her nipple peaked beneath his demanding caress as he worked her soft skin and the rigid bud between his deft fingers.

She bit her lip. "Both!" she cried, gasping, then told him, "With your mouth, Horatio."

"Here?" he asked, lowering his head to her breast and drawing her taut nipple into the wet heat of his mouth with his tongue.

She tangled her trembling fingers in his soft hair, undoing the ribbon of his queue and running her hands through the silky brown curls while seizing it roughly in her fists and pushing him more firmly into her aching flesh. He suckled hungrily, feasting on one hardened plump bud then the other and she could see his large chocolate colored eyes blazing up at her in the blackness, watching her intensely.

"Or here?" he asked as he lowered his head once again, kissing her softly rounded stomach before descending between her thighs, tracing the contours of her muscles with his tongue before taking her into his mouth.

She felt ripples of pleasure tear through her body and a desperate cry escaped her lips. "I love you Horatio," she gasped, the sensation of his tongue exploring her making her mind whirl in spinning brilliant colors. She clenching fistfuls of his hair, wanting the gentle teasing touch of his lips and tongue to last forever. "Say you love me, Horatio. Please?"

He moved again, covering her body with the weight of his, kissing her severely; she could taste her essence on him as she sucked his full sensuous bottom lip between hers.

"You know I do, I've told you as much," he told her huskily, "I would rather show you." He kissed her shoulder, her neck, her ear, nuzzling her hair, grasping her hips and grinding them against his in a silent plea. She could feel his hardened member straining against his breeches, begging for satisfaction.

"But I want to hear you say it," she panted, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I want to hear you really say it, not because you desire me but because it's true."

He slowed his love making to almost a halt and took her face in his hands, softly caressing her cheeks with light strokes of his thumbs. He pulled her to him so they were nose-to-nose and stared deeply into her eyes. The darkness enclosed them in its silent cocoon as he told her, "I've dreamt of loving the way I love you, Charlotte, though I never thought it possible. I won't make love to you in a barn anymore, sneaking from my room, hiding under the cover of night. I want you in my bed, to love you as my wife."

"Would you marry a half-breed colored bastard witch? Because that's what they'd call me, Horatio," she gasped, pressing her face to his shoulder with a sob. "Captains marry noblewomen and ladies, not former slave colonists."

"I don't care," he answered truthfully. "I don't care what they say about us. They can all go to the Devil, for all I care. I love you Charlotte, that's what you want to hear, isn't it? And you deserve better than this, than me having my way with you like this."

"Have a care, Horatio," she warned, putting her finger to his lips. "Your career..."

"Damn my career, damn Sir Edward Pellew and Mrs. Abigail Bennett and the admiralty," he laughed. "Damn them all, Charlotte. I love you, I love you," he repeated, making sure the words hit their mark. "Weren't you the one who told me not to over think this?"

He wiped the tears she didn't even know she was shedding away gently, kissing her cheeks where they'd fallen. He didn't understand, this was the same woman who had begged him to make love to her just this afternoon, who'd broken through his emotional and social barrier, who'd made him feel as he'd never felt before in his life. Why was she now afraid? Maybe it was this damnable oppressive darkness they were suffocating in.

"Show me how to love you, Horatio," she said after a moment of silence. Her hand snaked up inside his loose frilly shirt and lightly caressed the rough skin of his flat stomach. He let out a deep, guttural groan as her fingertips reached the waistband of his breeches, tracing the light dusting of coarse hair from his naval downwards, and slipped inside. "Does my touch please you as much as yours does me, love?" she whispered innocently.

"Good God, woman, yes!" he gasped out, gritting his teeth and fumbling with the laces of his breeches with desperation. After what seemed like an eternity, the last one gave way and Charlotte's hand glided in, stroking his firm backside and muscular thighs before moving to his manhood. He threw back his head and moaned coarsely as she stroked him shyly; once, twice and again. "With your mouth," he demanded, arching his back in pleasure, "with your mouth Charlotte." He could feel her sliding down his body, laying kisses as she went. She pulled his shirt over his head and his breeches down past his buttocks, admiring his long thick hard member before gently caressing it with her tongue.

"Horatio, I've never..." she began, unsure of herself, taking him between her lips at his urging. The sheer force of the groan of his pleasure emboldened her. She stroked him with her lips and tongue, sucking as much of his swollen shaft as she could take into her mouth delicately, his magnificently powerful male taste making her head spin. His fingers tangled in her hair and he whispered things to her through clenched teeth; his urges, his desires, his love, his lust, begging her to take him deeper into the moist heat of her mouth. He was lost in a complete and total haze of love for this woman as she continued her intimate kiss. He closed his eyes and imagined the house he'd build for her; here in Jamaica of course, he couldn't imagine living anywhere else after falling under this isle's lazy magical spell, the children they'd have, the love he'd make to her in a bed of their own.

"I love you," he murmured, comprehending for the first time that it was completely and unconditionally true, and that he was utterly unabashed and without shame in showing her the physical expression of his love. He began to thrust against her slightly, small insistent gyrations, realizing that his want had become urgent.

"I... need... you. Now, Charlotte, I need to be inside of you" he panted, reluctantly disentangling himself from her and laying her back on the floor, spreading her thighs and positioning himself between them. He thrust in roughly making her cry out loud. Every time he was inside her, he decided, was more delicious than the last, the feel of her warm velvet skin enveloping him tightly. He moved in her a bit more forcefully than he'd intended, reeling in the desire that swept over him in waves, fed by the loud keening cries of pleasure that left her lips every time he plunged in.

Any doubts she'd had were washed away as she thrust her hips forward to meet each of his penetrations, wrapping her legs around his waist she pulled him deeper; feeling him fill her was the most unbelievable sensation she'd ever experienced and as his rhythm increased frantically she felt as if she'd explode. She felt everything; the soft sea breeze against her over heated skin, the feel of Horatio's rough bare flesh urgently mating with hers, the soft pattering of rain on the barn roof, his low growling groans of gratification, every sense was alive as she gave one last cry and came. He followed shortly after, pushing himself deep inside her one last time and pulsing his seed in her.

"Forgive me, Horatio," she whispered as he collapsed on top of her and rolled over, his chest heaving from the exertion and exhaustion. She lay her head upon it, listening to the unsteady sound of his breathing. "Forgive me for doubting you. I won't ever again, I promise. I love you."

"Why, Charley?" he asked, still gasping to catch his breath. "Why would you doubt me?"

"I was scared."

"Of what, Charley? Of me?"

She shook her head, her fall of silky hair tickling the exposed flesh of his chest. "Of myself." She knew Horatio was frowning but could not bear to meet his gaze. She fingered the scar on her palm again, this time with dull awareness.

"Have you ever done something and not been sure if you'd ever really done it in the first place?"

The question hit Horatio like a sucker punch to the stomach. He thought of Captain Sawyer lying injured and defenseless on the floor staring up at him accusingly, of Archie at the trial taking the blame when in truth Horatio had no memory of what had happened whatsoever.

"Yes," he answered honestly.

He pulled her closer to him enfolding her in his strong embrace, burying his face in her hair. No more was said. They both fell asleep, entangled in each other's arms, each soothed by the other's warm and loving touch.


	9. Chapter 8

Waking was somewhat of a less pleasant experience.

"You damned half breed hussy," Horatio heard through a haze of sleep, the harsh tone snapping him instantly awake only to find himself being prodded by a pitchfork by none other than Mr. Arnauds, who was looking mighty pleased with himself. "And what have we caught ourselves here?" the disgusting little man asked, prodding Horatio again. "Taking a roll with one of our little trollops, eh, sir?" he said the last word with bitter contempt.

Horatio blushing deeply at being caught stark naked, hastened to pull on his breeches and stand before his accuser,. Arnauds grabbed the still half naked Charlotte roughly by the wrists and pulled her to him, slapping her hard across the face, spitting out, "You think you're good enough to lay with a white man, you little slut?" Horatio, now enraged, grabbed Arnauds by the collar and pulled him away from Charlotte who was trembling pitifully.

"If you so much as touch her again, so help me sir, I will not be held responsible for my actions," Horatio told him icily. "I am Captain Horatio Hornblower of His Britannic Majesty's ship, Retribution, and I swear to you if you even utter a word of this to anyone I will see you punished before Mrs. Bennett for your mistreatment of her servants. Is that understood, Mr. Arnauds?"

The man's face and fat little neck were turning a distinct shade of furious purple but he dared not speak back. If this was truly was who he said he was, it could spell danger for his already precarious position.

"Yes, sir," he spat out grudgingly. "But a warning for you. I doubt Mrs. Abigail would find you having sport with one of her precious little servants acceptable, do you?"

"We'll see this afternoon," Horatio answered coldly. "Now leave, before I thrash you as you've thrashed the others, and yes, I know all about that." Mr. Arnauds began to back away slowly, keeping his eyes steady to Horatio's stern, angered glare.

"You be careful with this one, Captain," the vile man said as he left. "Raynier wanted his dance with her and look where he ended up. They dance in the night, blood sacrifices. Don't want no part of that witch."

Horatio turned at once to Charlotte who was crumpled on the floor, her body shuddering with sobs. He knelt next to her and wrapped his arms around her, gently comforting her, stroking her hair and asking if she was hurt. She shook her head but was too humiliated to speak.

"It's okay," he whispered to her soothingly. "I told you I'd never let anyone or anything harm you. If he ever so much as looks at you crooked again, I'll kill him, on my honor, Charley."

He gathered her into his arms and carried her to the kitchen house, where Old Mother was waiting. The ancient woman grinned her toothless grin when she saw him and led him into their bedroom.

"Good ting you come when the others are at breakfast, eh?" she wheezed. Horatio gently laid her out on her bed and covered her with the thin blanket, kissing her forehead softly and giving her hand a gentle squeeze. Old Mother nodded wisely, "You take care of her and the heart she's given you. Now you better be off before someone catches sight of ye, boy!"

"Yes," Horatio said, giving Charlotte one last kiss then turning to leave, "but I'll be back this afternoon, then they'll be no need for this prowling around like a panther in the darkness. I promise," he told Charlotte deeply.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Stop grinning for God's sake, man" Horatio scowled at Bush as the two approached Myrtle Chase. "You look like an ass."

"I'm sorry, I can't help myself," Bush smirked.

"You're enjoying this far too much," frowned Horatio crossing his arms across his chest uncomfortably, glancing out the carriage window to the looming shape in the distance that was rapidly taking form as The Chase. "Maybe you shouldn't have come along."

Bush was still smiling, "What, and miss all the fun? Horatio, I insisted, remember? Besides, you'll need all the support you can get."

Horatio just shot him a dark look. As they entered the lavish Main Hall of The Chase and announced themselves, requesting an audience with the Lady of the house, Horatio recognized one of the servants who greeted them as Bones and as he ushered them into the parlor asked the lank young man politely to go and fetch Charlotte as well as their talk would concern her.

Abigail was sitting in a plush armchair at the far side of the room by the glass doors that opened onto a veranda into the gardens. She smiled as they entered and beckoned them to sit.

"I'm afraid Sir Edward and Lady Pellew are otherwise occupied at the moment, Mr. Hornblower."

"It is you I came to see, Mrs. Bennett," Horatio bowed before taking a seat, secretly relieved he didn't have to do this in front of Pellew. He was already flushed and nervous as if he had the Devil himself breathing down his neck. Having Bush behind him, grinning like an idiot at his discomfort was hardly helping. "I... I came to talk to you about a servant of yours, Miss Charlotte Freeman."

This caught Abigail's attention and she eyed him suspiciously with her keen green eyes, making Horatio sweat more profusely under his heavy collar.

"I know you are..." Damn! How could he put this delicately in front of Bush, who had no idea of Abigail and Charlotte's common familial lineage. "I know how you feel... that Charlotte is especially dear to you. As a matter of fact, I've asked her to join us but hope to get this out before she arrives. I... I wish to ask her hand in marriage, with your blessing."

This certainly caught Abigail off guard, he could see the shock on her face for just a moment before she regained her composure. "I must say, Mr. Hornblower, of all the things I was expecting to come from your mouth that was perhaps the last on the list," she said with a small but not unfriendly laugh. She seemed relieved and that set Horatio at ease. "I assume Charlotte knows of and shares in your feelings?"

"I do," Charlotte said suddenly appearing in the doorway. She was flushed and giddy; Horatio guessed she'd run all the way when Bones had given her the news. Horatio and Bush rose from their chairs as she entered and she bowed slightly to Mrs. Abigail, taking Horatio's hand bashfully.

"Then I would be extremely happy to give my blessing, Mr. Hornblower!" Abigail beamed, still a bit perplexed but delighted nonetheless. "Where are you staying?"

"The Inn by the port, ma'am, The Kingston..." he began but Abigail cut him off with an emphatic wave of her hand.

"Nonsense," she tutted, "you're staying here now and I won't here another word of it! If Sir Edward had told me that you were staying in that dreadful place... why, I could just give him a wag off my tongue!"

It hadn't occurred to her that Mr. Bush, who was still present, was still staying in `that dreadful' place and that he remained uninvited much to his bad humor. The woman took Charlotte's hand and noticed the ring upon it scolding Horatio teasingly, giving him a smack upon the shoulder with the folded fan she held in her hand, "You haven't already given her the ring, have you Captain Hornblower?!"

"A token of my affections, ma'am..."

"And it is lovely," Abigail said approvingly. "Well, go ahead," she urged as if it was obvious. "Propose to her now, man!"

Bush snickered. He was enjoying Horatio's discomfort a little too much. "There's no use fighting her," Charlotte smiled, "trust me."

"Quite, Captain Hornblower," Bush added, a decidedly wicked grin twisting his slender face. "On one knee now, you must do it the proper way."

"And what would you know about it, Mr. Bush?" Horatio snapped, flushing.

"Horatio, really, you don't have to..." Charlotte started, as embarrassed as he, and gazing into the deep pools of her eyes, watching her tenderly chewing on the corner of her bottom lip in worry, he heard the words come out of his mouth almost unconsciously; he spoke with his heart not his head.

"I love you, Charlotte. Be my wife?"

"Of course," she smiled, a blush stinging her cheeks as she gave his hand a soft squeeze.

"There now that wasn't so painful, was it Mr. Hornblower," Abigail chuckled. "Come, let us have a lunch in celebration. Mr. Bush was it? Do be a dear and escort me," she said coyly, offering the man her arm. He took it politely, telling her, "It would be a pleasure, Mrs. Bennett."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A storm was brewing, the air felt thick and oppressive and charged with electricity. Dark clouds gather over the churning blue waters of the sea and the palm fronds blew a bit more insistently in the heavy gales that came off the ocean than they normally did in the humid tropical breeze, their thick trunks bending slightly to the pressure. The hair on the back of Horatio's neck prickled up as he stood on the veranda of The Chase.

They'd had a pleasant lunch, made polite conversation during which they were treated to Mrs. Abigail's unique sense of wit. Bush in particular seemed enthralled. Afterwards, Bush had departed with Horatio and the Captain had returned later with his belongings, getting ready to settle into the small, self-contained world of The Chase had its appeal, especially if it meant being closer to Charlotte. Still, he couldn't help but feel unsettled somehow. It was the coming storm he convinced himself, `it's playing havoc with my nerves.'

He felt a small unfamiliar presence at his back and Abigail spoke, listening lowly through her teeth, "Will you look at that. Haven't seen a sky like that in months." Silence. "I assume Charlotte told you of our... connection?"

Horatio nodded slowly, keeping her eyes on the gathering clouds. "I appreciate your discretion then, Mr. Hornblower. You confirm my first impression of your person, that you are a true gentleman. It is more than I could have hoped for ... my sister." Horatio looked at her then, his eyebrow raised in slight surprise. "No, I'm not ashamed of it, Mr. Hornblower. The shame lies with my father, not Charlotte or me. Or them for that matter," she nodded towards the fields where workers were devoutly harvesting sugar cane. "I try to give them a good life, it's the least I can do after what they suffered through when my father was master of The Chase. Lady Anne, she is my cousin by marriage but Charlotte is blood. That might not mean very much to the English gentry, Mr. Hornblower, but here, in this wild new land, it means everything. Will you take Charlotte back with you to England?"

"No," Horatio said morosely. "I don't think I could ever separate her from this land; they're part of each other, one and the same."

"So you'll move here?" she asked a note of surprise evident in her voice.

"There's nothing for me back in England," he shrugged. He hadn't given it much thought before now but now the choice seemed obvious. "It's cold and damp and crowded and rains most of the time, and it doesn't have Charlotte."

They were both silent as they listened to a low rumble of thunder rippled through the distant sky. "And you've thought about your career, what it would mean to live in Jamaica, how long you'll be away from Charlotte?"

"The life of a seaman," he replied, "I suppose I haven't given it enough thought as I should. She has that effect on me. She tried to talk about it last night but I don't think I was listening very well," he chuckled, then blushed at the implications of his statement. "I saw her last night, it wasn't..."

"Please, you don't need to explain to me," Abigail said wryly, waving her hand in dismissal. "I know what young couples do, I'm still a woman of considerable youth. It wasn't so long ago Gabriel and I were sneaking off together in the night. I only had five good years with him before a fever claimed him." For a moment her eyes went shades of far off and distant, and Horatio wondered if he should speak. In the end he decided to leave her in her memories until she came back again and told him, "I've asked Charlotte to move into the main house as well, that way you don't have to creep to the barn in the darkness of night." She grinned knowingly at his shocked and disbelieving expression. "I know everything that goes on at The Chase, Mr. Hornblower, or I try to. It becomes difficult business sometimes, especially in Mr. Arnauds case. He's a shifty one, that one, but he was a good friend of my father's and I cannot just dismiss him. Come, let's go inside before the rain starts."


	10. Chapter 9

Old Mother released the bones from her fist and watched as they rolled across the floor, hit the wall and stopped. She knelt and examined them wisely. She didn't even look up as Charlotte entered the kitchen house, paid no heed as she shuffled across the well-worn, scuffed wooden floor. "Why didna ya tell me ye'd been to Maria Alva?" she asked, startling the young woman who'd thought the ancient biddy had been so busy with her premonitions she hadn't even noticed her presence.

"Did Auntie Maria tell you?" Charlotte asked uneasily, glancing at the sheep's knuckles on the floor. Old Mother didn't answer. "Do you remember, what happens during the Banda I mean, when you're dancing and the spirits... the loa are speaking to you or through you or whatever they do?"

Old Mother tutted. "Mayhaps I do..."

"And mayhaps, you don't," Charlotte finished for her with a small smile, earning a scowl from the old woman.

"I know what you been askin' `bout," Old Mother pointed an accusing finger at the girl. "Thought you didna believe in these tings! You should have come ta Old Mother first, she help you, child." The biddy's face softened.

"What's done is done, mayhaps you done it, mayhaps you didna," she finished quickly before Charlotte could tease her again. She could see the young girl fingering the scar on her palm, frowning. "No one remembers nutting when the spirits take 'em. Raynier..."

"I'm moving into the manor house," Charlotte interrupted abruptly. "I'm engaged, did you know that? My young captain, but I think the Old Doctor has probably told you about all that by now as you've been consulting him all day. He gave me a ring," she held out her hand limply to show off the shining band of gold but Old Mother just clucked her tongue without even looking up to gaze upon it. Her arm dropped to her side again. "I don't have to worry about Raynier anymore, or his violent drunken advances. One way or another, it was taken care of," she said defensively though guilt was evident in her tone.

"One way or another," Old Mother muttered, and nodded wisely turning her attention back to her bones. "A storm is coming, ye hear me, girl? I can feel it gathering on the horizon."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Lightening split the humid air, illuminating the windows of Horatio's room like ghostly apparitions with a loud boom for just a moment, and then fading into the distance as wind pounded the slatted wooden shutters like a fist, rattling them violently. The rain hadn't started, but Horatio could tell, standing in the doorway of his guest chamber's small veranda, that it wouldn't be long. The cooling but still warm humid air whipped at his loose shirt and hair as he stood there, watching the violent gray cloud cover smother what would have been a beautiful orange sunset.

He jumped at the small sound of his chamber door opening, creaking on its hinges, the hot wet air swelling it so it didn't move or close properly. He turned, startled, only to find Charlotte tiptoeing in, her face screwed up painfully, her bottom lip firmly between her teeth as she tried to make as little noise as possible as the door protested loudly. It clicked closed behind her reluctantly and she padded over silently to his bed, her coffee colored skin glowing in the light of the crimson flames coming of the flickering candelabras set about the room, her black hair shimmering like silk as it moved lavishly about her waist and down her back. He wasn't sure whether to frown or smile and his expression came out as a combination of both. She laughed silently, putting her fingers to her lips; cautioning him to speak quietly as she climbed up onto the lavish bed, sinking slightly into the deep soft covers.

"What are you doing here?" he whispered, not knowing if he should seize her and kiss her or send her back to her room with a scolding.

"You kept speaking of having me in your bed," she replied with a wicked yet innocent grin, pulling her legs under her so she was sitting cross legged amongst the blankets, folding her hands in her lap, "I wanted to see what was so special about it." He rolled his eyes and chuckled, closing the wooden slatted veranda doors and strolling over to the bed, laying himself upon it stretched out next to her. "And don't say I shouldn't be here," she hissed teasingly.

"That would sound just like you."

"You sounded like that last night," he said, placing a hand on her knee.

"Did I?" she frowned. "I must have gone daft. Doesn't sound like me, does it?" she smiled, wrinkling her nose. "I think Mrs. Abigail took a liking to your Mr. Bush, I noticed she didn't let him out of her sight all afternoon."

Horatio grinned, "I suppose so." He reached up and cupped Charlotte's cheek with his palm, gently caressing. She leaned over slowly, her loose hair cascading around him as she kissed him softly. She shifted so she was lying next to him and placed her head on his chest just below his chin and her hand on his stomach, snuggling up close to him. He placed one hand behind his head and the other under her body and around her waist, pulling her to him tightly.

"I like this," she said, massaging the tightening muscles of his belly lightly with her hand through the muslin of his shirt, "being with you in your bed."

"Mmmm," he replied, breathing a prolonged relaxed sigh and closing his eyes. Lightening struck again, turning his vision crimson red against his eyelids.

Suddenly the vision came to him again, Bones in his ashen make-up and the blood red sash around his waist, dancing as if possessed, around the alter to his pagan Gods. "Come dance, stranger," the figure leered. "Ghede favors you tonight." Why couldn't he remember more? He remembered Charlotte's apprehension to get away, the first half is for the living, the second... He had an image then, of Charlotte before the alter and another woman, one he'd never seen before, not quite as ancient as Old Mother but with the same air of mysticism about her. She was light skinned, mulatto perhaps, or maybe part Spanish? Horatio thought he heard Charlotte call her Auntie Maria or Mambo Maria. She drew a long hairpin from her waves of silken black and handed it to Charlotte who proceeded to drag it across her palm, squeezing her fist so the blood ran through her fingers and, raising her hand, threw the thick red liquid over a symbol drawn in the sandy ground.

"The veve. The loa are about you now," the old woman said, her voice oddly resonate. "Damballa favor you. Midnight comes, will it be the living or the dead?" Charlotte looked confused, pained, conflicted. Horatio wanted to reach out to her; to touch her, reassure her. But where was he? Lost in the Banda, the dance of the dead, talking with Old Mother, or was she Archie Kennedy? Everything was so strange and dark. Nothing existed outside the flickering candlelight on the alter, which cast frightening and odd shadows across this unreality.

He awoke with a start realizing only then that he'd been dreaming. "What is it, love?" Charlotte purred, kissing his chin and slipping her hand inside his shirt and frowning. "You're sweating, my love. You were asleep; did you have a bad dream?"

Breathing deeply to steady himself, he wiped the sweat drenched curls from his forehead noticing his hand was trembling. "Charlotte, what is a loa?" he asked his voice quavering slightly.

Charlotte sat up and as she gazed into his eyes her frown deepened. "Who told you that word, loa? It's.. it's what Old Mother calls the spirits, the divinities; the loa. She says they watch over us always. I never told you that word, it's not spoken to outsiders. Did you hear it when I took you to the cove?"

"No," Horatio replied distantly. "In my dream." He took her hand in his and raised it to his mouth, running his lips across the still raw scar on her lower palm. "Tell me how you got this scar, Charley."

"Kitchen accident," she said defensively, pulling her hand away a bit too quick. She stared at it for a moment herself as if she couldn't quite remember herself, then guilt crossed her lovely features; recognition, discomfort. "In the kitchen," she repeated, "the knife slipped. I was slicing apples, and the knife slipped."

He sat up with her and took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. "A kitchen accident?" he restated with a note of disbelief.

She laughed suddenly, startling him. "It happens, Horatio. I work in the kitchens, a hazard of the job I suppose. What's gotten into you? You've had a bad dream, that's all."

She kissed him, provocatively nibbling on the sweet fullness of his lower lip. He closed his eyes again, his heart still thumping wildly in his chest, trying desperately to blot out the images that still lingered from his dream. He felt her hand slip into his shirt softy caressing the bare skin her eager finger found there while her mouth moved to his ear, her tongue playing with the lobe before moving to the delicate shell. His arousal was acute. He gasped lowly as her fingertips found his flat hard nipple and began to rub gently. It felt so good, but there was something... It felt manipulative, as if she were intentionally trying to distract him away from his thoughts. Her hand moved lower to his stomach.

"No," he groaned, reluctantly disentwining their bodies. "No," he said deeply, taking her face in his hands and staring into her eyes intensely. She looked so honest, so innocent, his heart broke. She moved forward to kiss his slightly parted lips once again but he stopped her.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked, a confused and concerned look furrowing her brow.

"No! No, I just..." A lump formed in his throat. What could he say to her? That he distrusted her? No, because that wasn't true. She had been with him when Raynier was killed, hadn't she? How could he even let his mind entertain such a thought?! Of course she had been, naked and warm in his arms. Secretly he cursed himself for even letting his mind conjure the idea. "I want to lie with you, Charlotte, but just like we have been." He looked away no longer able to meet her earnest, ardent gaze, blushing a becoming shade of pink. "We don't have to make love for you to pleasure me, Charley, just your touch, your presence..."

She smiled widely then, understanding and relief washing over her. He opened his mouth to speak again but she stopped him, pressing her fingers to his lips. She leaned against him, pushing him back down onto the bed while pulling the blanket over them. She wrapped her body around him tightly, resting her head in the crook between his neck and shoulder. She sighed contentedly, snuggling up to him slightly as he put his arms around her. He kissed her forehead and settled his head back down onto the pillow, laughing at himself silently for doubting her even for that one moment. He loved her with all his heart and soul, it didn't matter what she did in the cove with the others, it didn't matter what she believed or practiced. Not to him; not as long as she belonged to him, as she was at his side.

She sat up suddenly, frowning at him as if something just occurred to her. "Horatio, I have no dowry to offer..."

"Hush," he said quietly, keeping his eyes closed, peace washing over his features, "I have already worked it out with Mrs. Bennett. Don't even think about it."

"Horatio," she said running her cool hand along his brow, "how long were you at sea before you came here?" He just shrugged; it seemed so long, so trying. Then there had been the trial. And losing Archie. "How long will you be away when they call your leave ends? How long will you be away from me?"

"Not long Charlotte, I promise," he mumbled. "Six months maybe. But you will be in my thoughts every moment, I swear to you. And when I come home I shall make love to you as you've never known a man capable of."

"Are you not ashamed to be marrying a servant?"

"Never!" he said emphatically, though his voice was drifting off.

"Horatio?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"Mmmmmm," he replied distantly as he drifted calmly into that quiet place between awareness and dreams.

"May I kiss you now?"

He grinned with a small soft chuckle and told her she could. She leaned over and took his mouth in a slow, passionate kiss that made his body quiver all over. She smiled and rested her head once again against the firmness of his muscular chest. As he fell asleep, he heard the rain begin to fall, pounding the shutters with its full force, rattling them like spirits demanding entrance. But the warmth of Charlotte's body at his side was all he could feel and the darkness was gone for now.


	11. Chapter 10

Horatio could hear the vile man's voice resonating from the breakfast room like a boom of thunder from the storm that had raged its fury across the land the night last before he even reached the small usually sunlit chamber. He cringed at the words, getting the full gist of the argument without having heard the beginning of it from just the few words he caught: "...give them a little, they'll take everything. The rebellion on Santo Domingo..."

"Has nothing to do with The Chase," he heard Mrs. Bennett's voice interrupt definitely and sharply. He smiled to himself. The years spent running the plantation herself had made the attractive woman shrewd and confident. He'd hate to get into a disagreement with her. "Now do go and do your job, Mr. Arnauds. You're being a terribly dull as usual and your rudeness before my guests is unprecedented!"

It was just as the obnoxious man was turning to leave that Horatio entered and the two almost collided. "Oh and Mr. Arnauds," Abigail said flippantly, "this is Captain Hornblower. He'll be staying with us for some time."

"We've met," Horatio said, a smile lightly touching the corner of his lips as he watched the man's startled expression. If Arnauds had thought the boy bluffing when he caught him sporting with that wretched servant girl, all doubt was now washed away by Mrs. Bennett's words. His position had just become very precarious indeed, he'd have to watch himself carefully now, and Horatio knew it and relished it.

"Sir," Arnauds managed to spit out bitterly by way of a greeting, tipping the brim of his old worn hat slightly in an almost mock salute mostly for the benefit of Abigail and her guests, Commodore Pellew and the Lady Anne. He left with a curt bow to Mrs. Bennett and the room seemed to brighten considerably.

Horatio was still gloating to himself when he turned to bid Mrs. Bennett good morning and noticed Pellew sitting comfortably in an armchair by the veranda regarding him slyly. His wife, Anne, sat beside him demurely with a knowing smile upon her lips.

"Well, Mr. Hornblower," Pellew barked sternly, his lips betraying a hint of a smirk, "I hear it from Mrs. Bennett that we have reason to congratulate you on your upcoming nuptials."

Horatio began to swear most profusely under his collar and not just from the lazy tropical heat that flowed in through the opened veranda doors. No matter where he was, what his rank, Pellew's commanding voice always made him feel like a young clumsy Midshipman again. What would the man think? His approval meant everything to Horatio; he was a mentor, a friend, a father.

"Yes, sir," Horatio managed to get out as calmly as he could as he sat rather awkwardly and reached for a cup of tea from a service tray laying on a nearby table. Why was he so nervous? Pellew was a friend, a good friend; nay, the best. He loved Charlotte, surely Sir Edward would as well.

"And I hear that Mr. Bush has heard of it before me, nay, was present at the proposal!" Pellew continued in that same stern tone with just a dash of sarcasm. "And when were you planning on telling me, sir? Your closest and dearest friend?"

"Stop teasing the boy, Ted," Anne admonished him, giving her husband a small slap with her folded fan upon his thigh. Pellew's severe face broke with a large grin and a short loud laugh.

"We are both very happy for you, Captain Hornblower," she said warmly.

"Indeed!" added the Commodore emphatically. "You will find marriage most agreeable to a man's constitution, Mr. Hornblower. When do we meet the lucky lady in question?"

"Charlotte's still abed," Abigail answered quickly catching the panicked and embarrassed gleam in Horatio's eye at the prospect of having to explain how he knew where she was and what she was doing. The last he left her she was snuggled contentedly in his bedclothes, smiling as he disentangled himself from her and gave her a soft kiss on the mouth. He'd guessed she'd never slept in a bed so fine in her life so he left her there, feeling a distinct ache in his groin as he watched her cuddle further into the soft blankets.

He had felt the keen urge to climb back in with her and take her back into his arms. Instead he brushed her silky hair from her face and kissed her on the forehead, dressing and leaving her in peace. Unbeknownst to him, she'd kept one eye open watching as he shaved, wishing with all her heart at every careful stroke of the razor against his slender neck he'd come back to bed.

"A fine girl," Mrs. Bennett continued, throwing Horatio a small discreet yet knowing glance, "one of the best I've known. I have been very... protective of her over the years. I'm sure Mr. Hornblower will make her a fine husband."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Bones looked up curiously, arching an eyebrow at Charlotte as she entered the kitchen house. "She returns," he grinned. "Don't tell me you found the beds at the manor so disagreeable you had to come back here. Old Mother was just getting used to the idea of sleeping alone."

"I awoke and didn't know what to do," she admitted bashfully. "I heard them talking in the breakfast room but was too abashed to join them. I'd... I'd feel as if I had to serve them, besides, I don't know the proper way to enter a room. I didn't want to embarrass him, my captain that is, without knowing proper etiquette. Suppose I'll have to learn now."

"Learning how not to be a servant isn't a bad thing, Charley," Bones told her softly, turning back to what he was doing, sitting cross legged on the floor.

Charlotte sat behind him and placed her chin on his shoulder. "Ugh!" she groaned, looking at the cards laid out on the scuffed wooden planks in front of him, "not you too! What are the cards telling you?" she asked teasingly, giving him a tickling squeeze at his armpits.

"I don't know," he said seriously, frowning, "they confuse me today. They're making no sense at all, like... like..."

"Playing cards?" Charlotte said jokingly but she felt the wind pick up at her back, blowing in through the open door, making the hair on her arms stand on end. It was just a light breeze really, nothing to be noted except for... except for the whispers. She heard them at the back of her brain, felt her hair gently move in the draft. She felt strange hypnotized, as she stared over his shoulder the cards moved, or began to change, she wasn't sure which.

Bones was obviously unaware of it because he kept prattling on about something or other. Ghede, Maman Brigitte, Baron Cemetiere, Erzulie, Marinette; which will it be Charlotte?

'What do you see in the cards, girl?' a gruff male voice said and it took her a moment to realize it wasn't Bones. It sounded familiar; something about it from her youth. Of course, the old Doctor. "What did you want?"

"Horatio to love me," another voice replied. Was it her own? It sounded like her but didn't seem to be coming from her own throat or mouth. Suddenly, she heard distant shouting; angry, violent. The cards were shifting before her eyes until the Joker was King and she saw a figure dangling from a tree limply, swaying gently in the breeze in coming off the gathering storm. She wanted to look away but was transfixed. She tried to see the face of the hanged figure but could not focus clearly on the darkened form. Everything disappeared around her; Bones, the kitchen house, until there was nothing but the ground and the sky going on endlessly before and behind her.

"What do you want?" Mambo Maria's voice asked. "Ask them for it. They flawed, just like you. Damballa favors you tonight, and Erzulie watches after you and the boy. Ask them, ask them."

"I want Horatio," the voice that was but wasn't Charlotte replied.

"Is that all?" a fourth voice asked, this one she recognized only from her most fevered dreams though it had never spoken directly to her before. The Joker card. "Too easy. The boy, he wants you; he's yours already. Death, Charlotte, I can feel it in your heart; darkness, disgust, revenge."

"I hate him!" the Charlotte voice spat out bitterly. "I hate him and the way he touches me! I wish he were dead, do you understand me? I wish Marcus Raynier was dead!"

"A storm's coming, can ye feel it?" Old Mother asked.

"Take care of him, Charlotte," Kennedy's voice said. "Are you scared?"

"Yes," the Charlotte voice replied.

"Of what?"

"Myself."

The mob of angry shouting grew louder and she saw the man, the one who lived at the outskirts of The Chase, the vagrant that Raynier sometimes indulged by throwing him the left over scraps from the kitchen. There was blood on his hands and in his matted hair and, when Charlotte looked down, on hers as well. The crackle of thunder (or was it a loud thumping against the wooden floor?) in the distant rapidly moving sky sent her gasping back to reality and the world came back to her; she was once again sitting, her arms around Bones, on the rough hewn floor of the kitchen house. Old Mother banged her cane once again, making Charlotte jump. She stared up at the ancient woman, her eyes still glassy and dazed.

"What did the cards tell ya, girl?" Joints creaking against the strain, the woman knelt next to her placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "What did ye see?"

"Oh God," was all she could choke out at first. "What happened? What did I do?"

"Charlotte?" Bones asked, concerned for she was now trembling.

"What did I say?" she said, hot tears streaming down her flushed cheeks as she pushed Bones away and got to her feet. "I-I have to go." She tripped over her skirts several times sobbing as she rushed to exit the now oppressive atmosphere of the kitchen house.

"Ye can't run from it," she heard Old Mother say after she'd managed to stumble out the door. "Storm's a comin'. I can smell it in the air; feel it in my joints."


	12. Chapter 11

The sky rumbled disagreeably as the blackened clouds moved in. The sea raged heavily against the heavy crisp wind, the waves pounding the shore violently. Charlotte wrapped her arms around her to calm her shivering, the chill sea spray drenching her brutally as she walked across the wet sand, her loose hair and white cotton blouse clinging to her body possessively. She couldn't bear to be near The Chase, every tree she looked at she saw the shadow of a hanged figure swaying gently beneath them. She'd been sick at some point, she couldn't remember when or where; her mind was hazy, frightened. What if she had asked the loa to kill Raynier? Did she really believe they had that kind of power; that their magic was real? It was a coincidence, it had to be. The vagrant she'd seen in the vision (which couldn't have been a vision because none of this was real), it was him, it must have been.

He had some connection to Raynier, Charlotte often suspected they were secretly brothers or maybe even lovers and she'd seen them argue more than once though she'd never heard what had been said. Did the loa make the vagrant kill Raynier? Stop it, stop this kind of thinking. Magic wasn't real if she didn't believe in it.

But she knew magic was real, she'd known it since she was a child. Since she'd had the dream. Mother had been sitting at the end of her bed when she awoke from a bad dream. She'd touched the coverlet tenderly and told her not to be afraid. Charlotte had fallen asleep again and learned only the next morning that her mother had died from the fever she'd been suffering; she'd never left her bed the night before. Old Mother had looked at her then, straight in the eye like one adult to another and told her not to be 'afeared'.

She felt a dull ache on her palm and looked down to see that her thin scar, which had all but disappeared just yesterday, had opened again and was bleeding weakly. What would Horatio think of her? He himself had danced the Banda, had communed with the spirits. Horatio, how she wished he was there, to tell her she was being silly, to admonish gently. To take her in his strong steady arms and tell her everything was going to be all right. To tell her not to be afraid; that he loved her always and wanted to make her his wife even though she was the bastard daughter of a slave who practiced witchcraft. Whose spell workings had been the death of a man?

Unconsciously, she began to walk into the tide, climbing the rough beaten rocks so she could stand above the water and if invoked by thought Horatio appeared on the beach, looking relieved to see her and rather peevish at her having disappeared in the first place.

"Charlotte," he called to her rather sharply, then seeing the desolate look in her eyes as she turned to him, paused. "Charlotte, I've been looking for you everywhere. You disappeared this morning; I got worried. Come down from there," he said calmly and breathlessly as if he was suddenly frightened but was trying to suppress it.

"I did it," she said, choking back a sob, "I wished him dead and then he was. I just wanted him to hurt as much as he'd been hurting me. He liked to torture me because I would not lay with him. Now Raynier's dead."

"But you didn't have anything to do with that, Charlotte," Horatio tried to stay composed as he edged towards her cautiously. "We were in the barn together when it happened, remember? Come on, love, we can talk about this back at The Chase."

But she turned away from him. "But I don't belong in The Chase, that's why I left this morning," she replied sullenly, her eyes riveted on the agitated water below. She was numb with fear, with endless questions that had no answer, with dreams long ago had, and visions of things to come. She was being overwhelmed, like the shore drowning under the force of the demanding waves. "And I don't belong in the kitchen house or in England. Where do I belong, Horatio?"

"With me, love," he answered quietly reaching out a hand to her while climbing the rock she stood upon agilely. She took a step away from him; she was now dangerously close to the edge. "I'll dive in there after you if I have to, by God Charley."

"Do you believe in witchcraft, Horatio?" she asked, her breath leaving her lungs in small gasps. "That's what the white folk call it. Devil worship. They also call it a reason for a hanging. There's a lynching coming, that's what they do when they're frightened, when they can't understand something; they become frightened of it and they lash out at it. They feign control, Horatio, but there is no control, not here, not in this haunted place."

"Charley, please..." For one moment, he let doubt cloud his eyes, causing her to take another step away from him. But it was fleeting and his heart beat wildly in his chest, terrified at the thought of what she might do.

"You were there, you saw it, you participated. This," she held up her palm to him but not towards him, showing him the bleeding scar, "was no kitchen accident and you knew it, I could see it in your eyes. But you didn't ask. Were you afraid? I'd never done anything like it before. I'd danced with them but never this. I wanted you and I thought this was the only way I could have you, I was desperate."

"But I was yours, love," he replied steadily, inching forward once again, "from the moment in the dining hall when you spilt the food all over me." Despite the dire situation, he couldn't help but give a small smile at the remembrance of that event; the moment he'd looked upon her for the first time, the horror stricken look in her eyes, the stunned, fevered one in his. "That's why I listened to you, that's why I came back the next night. I didn't really expect to be able to speak to Archie..."

"But you did."

"I cannot explain what happened that night nor the dreams I've had. Please, none of this matters, Charley, just come to me away from that ledge. I don't... I'm not always as free with my feelings as I should be. Archie used to tease and laugh at me for it; he felt and expressed everything so strongly. But with you... I love you Charlotte and I'm not afraid to say it, for the first time in my life I'm not afraid to say it to you or anyone else but right now I am very much afraid of losing you." He took another long step towards her and this time she did not back away. It had started to drizzle on them but he could still see the streaks from tears running down her cheeks. He reached out, cupping her cheek in his hand and wiping them away gently with his thumb.

"Go away," she wept, leaning into his embrace, feeling his strong sturdy arms wrap around her tightly, pulling her away from the edge of the rock while they cradled her against his solid chest. "Go away," she whispered, burying her face in his shoulder, feeling as he heaved a sigh of relief and stroked her hair tenderly. "Why do you haunt me?"

"I love you," he murmured into her hair. "You're soaked through and through, come let's get inside before it starts pouring on us. You're shivering," he said, delicately soothing her, rubbing his large hands against her shoulders and back. "Shhhh... shhhhhhh." With that he swept her into his arms and carried her back to The Chase.


	13. Chapter 12

"What happened?" Abigail gasped as Horatio carried Charlotte trembling form in through the veranda doors of the parlor. The slow drizzle had broken into a steady down pour blessedly only after he'd reached the manor house, his arms numb from transporting her weight all the way from the beach. Abigail laid a hand upon Charlotte's brow. "She's not fevered, that's something at least. Well, upstairs! Good God, get her to bed, man. It looks like she's been through hell and back!"

Instinctively, Horatio brought her to his chambers realizing with a crimson blush the implications of his action only as he laid her on the feathered mattress of his bed. If Abigail noticed or cared, she gave no sign of it as she followed, barking instructions to scampering servants as she rushed along behind him. Horatio removed his jacket, which was now water logged and brushed the damp curls from his forehead as he tried to warm her with the woolen blankets.

"It's no good, Mr. Hornblower. Looked at her clothes, she's soaked to the bone. They'll have to come off if she's to warm. Remove them if you would be so kind, Captain, while I go fetch one of my nightgowns from my apartments." Horatio's mouth fell open in shocked silent protest and his cheeks flushed. "Oh come now, Mr. Hornblower, why so modest now? Nothing you haven't seen before. Would you rather go a-rifling through my undergarments to find a suitable chemise?" His blush deepened. "I didn't think so," Abigail nodded, her skirts moving fussingly about her as she turned abruptly and left.

Horatio forced Charlotte to sit up and, kneeling next to the bed, swallowed hard as he peeled away the sopping wet blouse that clung to her bosom tightly and pulled it over her head. The thin, damp cotton shift underneath showed her breasts spectacularly, clinging to their chill hardened dusky peaks provocatively, making him keenly aware of the dull throbbing in his groin and the dryness in his throat. His fingers were trembling as he undid the tie for her skirt and slipped it off her rounded waist and down her shapely legs. "Horatio," she whimpered weakly, leaning her head against his shoulder as he gathered the hem of her shift in his hands and yanked the soaking thing up over her knees, her thighs, her waist.

He put his lips to her ear and whispered, his hot breath giving her clammy flesh goose pimples as she timidly folded her hands across her breasts, hindering his upward movement. "I've seen it before, love," he said in a low husky voice. She allowed him to pry her arms away and strip the chemise away, up over her head. He brushed the heavy saturated curtain of her black hair from her now bare shoulders and pulled her against him, hoping some of his rising body heat would warm her. He grabbed a wool blanket from the bed and wrapping the two of their bodies in it, surrounding them in its scratchy warmth.

"Horatio," she moaned, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder and shifting her legs so her knees pressed firmly against his hips. The tightening in his groin intensified. "You stayed with me, Horatio."

"I'll always stay with you, love," he replied, his growling voice betraying a hint of a groan. He ran his hand across the damp flesh of her back and sides, desperate to calm her shivering body. "Mrs. Bennett will be back any moment," he said quietly, kissing her neck and shoulder lightly, the heat of his lips making her gasp every time they made contact with her skin. "Are you warmer now?" he asked hoarsely, feeling the stiff buds of her nipples bearing into his chest even through his clothes as she pressed herself more firmly into him. He was on fire, having achieved an achingly demanding erection.

"You're not angry with me?" she whispered.

"For what, love? You've done nothing to anger me. Charlotte, we have to stop before I can't..."

Abigail's timing was impeccable. "Keeping her warm, eh, Mr. Hornblower?" she asked, arching an eyebrow with a hint of a smile as she barged into the room, the chambermaid she had in tow giggling and turning away demurely at the sight of them. His face flushed a distinct shade of crimson. "A novel approach to be sure but as it seems to be working I will not criticize." She removed a folded white cloth object from under her arm and placed it on the table nearest the door. "Do be a dear and see she puts this on." With a knowing grin she left, closing the door securely behind her.

Horatio smiled sheepishly, he should have been embarrassed at being caught in such a compromising situation but Abigail's playful approval and even subtle consent emboldened him and the feel and smell of Charlotte's body was making him crazy. He moved his hands from her back around to cup the soft ample flesh of her breasts in his palms. "Come on, Charlotte, it's hot as blue blazes in here," he murmured, kissing her jaw, "you can't still have a chill."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and turned her head surrendering her mouth to him. He took it with hot urgent passion, thrusting his tongue and ravaging the soft dampness her softly parted lips offered. His fingers deftly worked her ripened nipples, knowing just the way to touch her to make her moan against his mouth. She pressed her hips firmly into his and broke their kiss with a burning throaty 'oh', feeling how insistent his desire for her was.

"I feel like I want to cry but no tears come," she whispered, leaning her forehead to his full lips.

"Shhhhhh," he murmured against her brow, his heated breath leaving his lips in small pants. "I know, Charlotte, I know. I'm here with you now and nothing you can ever say to me, no admission you could ever make will make me leave your side. I was frightened for you, love, when you were up there on that rock."

"Would you really have dived in after me?"

He groaned, instinctively beginning to rock his hips against the bare softness of her thighs as she leaned into him.

"Good God yes, my sweet. But I am fevered in my desire for you right now and I cannot bear to wait any longer..."

How did she do this to him; make his staunch reserve, his tight self-restraint melt away with just her scent, the brush of her fingers. Maybe it was magic. She was magic. She slipped her hand down to the demanding bulge in his breeches and rubbed softly with her palm. Gritting his teeth, he arched against her hand. Trembling, anxious fingers undid his waistcoat buttons and slipped his shirt over his head. His muscles jumped and tightened in anticipation as she stroked his flat belly. Damn his breeches! He struggled frantically to free himself of them. Finally, the laces gave way and he slid them off fervently, his stockings and shoes going with them.

He loved the taste of her; the salty tang of her coffee colored skin. He wanted to lay his mouth everywhere on her as he pushed her back down on the bed, positioning himself between her invitingly parted thighs. He was aching to be pleasured, aching to pleasure her; to bury himself deep within her feminine core, to feel her slick silken skin convulse around him. He thrust in impatiently, his only thoughts dwelling on his love for this woman; smothering all of his doubts, all of his reservations. She cried out at his force but moved her hips to meet his penetration, folding her legs around his waist. She bit down hard on her bottom lip to silence her sounds of pleasure and slight pain as he pushed his entire ample length into her with powerful movements, but he wished to coax and encourage those very sounds from her throat. He wanted to hear how much he was satisfying her. He ran his tongue along the seam at the corner of her mouth, persuading gently her mouth open so he could hear every delicious cry that escaped her softly parted lips. He didn't want control, he didn't want polite society; he just wanted to stay inside Charlotte forever. He wanted to love her; physically and emotionally, and though his reason knew that the union would be shunned by almost everyone not least of which was his own Father, he didn't care. Not now, not as he was taking her; thrusting his pulsing rod into her again and again, crying out desperately in gratification and bliss every time he buried himself deep inside her warm moist sex.

She began to feel her insides coil as he moved on her demandingly, pulling tightly as pleasure washed over her in radiant waves. Colors swirled before her eyes and she felt warmth return to her limbs in a fabulous tingling sensation, the fire in her building to unbearable levels. She was repeating his name over and over, rasping it in desperate gasps and groans as if it were the most luscious word in all the English language. He wrapped his arms around her firmly, eager to savor ever shiver and spasm of her climax. She called his name one more time and, arching against him, came, her muscles clenching tightly around him.

He smiled, relishing the feel of her orgasm, kissing her neck as he pumped into her thrice more then, with a loud guttural growl, poured his seed inside of her. He pulled her close to him, grasping her buttocks as he turned on his side, moving her with him so he could stay inside of her. Wrapping his arms around her waist he kissed her brow tenderly. The color had returned to her previously pallid cheeks, her face was now radiant with the warm afterglow of Horatio's loving and her eyes were lucid. She smiled at him and his heart lightened, deciding it was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen after the terror of the vacancy in her face earlier. He kissed her again, observing, "You're still trembling."

"Yes," she said quietly, "but for a different reason now." She snuggled her cheek against his chest as he stroked her hair, watching in fascination his own long fingers running through the silken onyx tresses, which were still slightly damp and clung to his hand pleasantly. "Are you not embarrassed Mrs. Abigail caught us?"

Horatio groaned, chuckling slightly. "I was so worried on you and so fevered in my desire I would have done the act in front of her had she not left! I think you have bewitched me, Charley," he grinned, taking her hand in his and, raising it to his mouth, sucked languorously on her fingers, his tongue paying devious attention to each one in turn.

"I think you were very wicked before I met you and you were just to frightened to show it," she teased.

"I never had such reason to," he countered. "But tell me, love, what had you so fearful?"

"I saw death in the cards," she replied grimly, cringing at the mere memory but his warm hands caressing her bare flesh, the hot feel of his lips against her hand, kept her from relapsing into the frenzied state she'd been in before.

"Horatio, will you always be there to dive into the water after me?"

"Always, my love," he smiled.

"Horatio, about what I told you earlier..."

"Think no more of it, Charlotte," he silenced her, placing his fingers to her lips. "What's done is done and I will never utter to another soul what was said to me on that beach. You were distraught and I was much afraid for you. Come, let's not speak of it anymore." With a small utterance of disappointment on Charlotte's behalf, Horatio disentangled himself from her, however hesitantly, and walked towards where Abigail had put down the chemise.

"I promised Mrs. Bennett I see you put this on."

Charlotte's eyes raked greedily over his unabashedly naked flesh as he moved back towards the bed and, catching his slight blush, she told him, "You have a beautiful body. It's the first time I've seen it in full in the daylight. I didn't know that men could be so beautiful."

He grinned sheepishly as he grabbed her wrists and pulled her back into a sitting position. She protested loudly as he positioned her arms over her head and slipped the soft white camisole on her.

"I think that's the first time you've ever aided in putting my clothes ON," she said playfully. He started to push her into the bed, covering her with the blankets, forcing her to lie down, insisting that she was still unwell and needed her rest. She tried to lure him down with her but he resisted. "I know you want me, my captain, your body shows me as much," she said coyly, throwing a glance downwards at his groin.

Damn his betraying body! He bit off a curse, feeling the fresh surge pulsing through his nether regions as he watched her wriggled provocatively beneath the bedcovers. He glanced towards his breeches on the floor, thinking he should get them on and gain some semblance of command over himself but she wouldn't lie still and playfully wrestling her to keep her down was filling him with a renewed sense of desire.

"What if my chills come back?" she asked innocently, kissing him lightly on the lips. "You said I was still unwell, what if I start having fits again and my captain isn't here to calm me?"

"Charlotte..." he warned, throwing her an exasperated glare as he pulled away and proceeded to dress. "Did you breakfast?" he asked and she pouted slightly as she shook her head. "You must be starved, it's past lunch now. I'll bring you something up."

She tried to reach out and touch him but he shooed her hand away gently, determined to keep control of himself. How did she do it? What unearthly power did she have over him that made him want to lose control, made him uncaring of the consequences?

"You're treating me like a child," she complained, still pouting.

"You're behaving like one," he chided.

Suddenly, he felt her grip his hand tightly and sensed the morose change in her mood through her urgent touch. He turned to her, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. Her face was serious her brow dark and knitted with concern.

"What if the visions come back when you're gone?"

He sat on the bed next to her and tenderly kissed her forehead, brushing her hair from her shoulders fondly. "I'll only be gone a little bit, I promise. You need to eat, Charlotte, and you need rest, you still look very wan." He took her hand in his and brushed his lips sweetly against it; it was a gentlemanly gesture that made her fall in love with him all over again. She sighed and watched as he stood, straightening his layers of clothing and striding over to the door with his long muscular legs. He threw her one last glance as he opened the door and she blew him a kiss making him smile.

She laid back, her head resting on the feather down pillows after he'd gone, sighing deeply. She was tired and the peace that followed the union with her lover started to spread throughout her limbs and hazy mind. She smiled lazily, burying her face in the sheets which still had clinging to them Horatio's masculine scent. She fell asleep shortly after, dreaming softly.


	14. Chapter 13

"Oh," Charlotte started awake by the small careful click of the door. She wiped the sleep from her eyes and sat up, noticing first the tray of cold food that sat next to the bed then the quiet form a Mrs. Abigail smiling at her as she made her way across the room. "Mr. Hornblower was up here for quite some time earlier but you did not rouse," the woman told her gently. "He left the food for you but I see as it has not been touched that you are waking for the first time." She sat at the edge of the bed, eying the chemise keenly. "I see he got that thing on you... eventually. It's evening, Charlotte, and I'd very much like for you to join us in the dining hall for supper. Come, get dressed."

"I--I don't have anything to wear," Charlotte said blushing, thinking on her cream and white striped dress. It was the best one she owned but hardly appropriate for a dinner at a manor house.

"Nonsense," Abigail claimed absently, "you'll wear something of mine. I've some frocks that would suit you much I think. I must remember to take you to town one day; you'll need a wardrobe if you're to marry. Well, we'll think on that once this bloody storm subsides!"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Are you sure you don't mind?" Charlotte asked, admiring herself in the mirror, pressing the peach colored silk gown to her breast.

"Don't be silly," Abigail insisted. "It goes well on you and I've not been able to fit into it in ages; you might as well keep it. Now put it on; I'll have Hill help you do up the buttons, as well as with your hair. I must get down to the hall now, don't want my guests arriving before their hostess. Hill, do help her."

"Yes, mum," the older rather stout woman nodded approvingly. Abigail left in a fussing rustle of skirts and petticoats and Hill smiled warmly. "Now, let's help you on with this, miss."

"You don't have to call me 'miss', Hill," Charlotte sighed, slightly muffled as she slipped the gown down over her head. "You've known me all my life, you were midwife at my birth."

Hill made work of her plump little fingers buttoning the frock. "Aye," the woman grinned widely. "And it does a heart good; to see my precious little Charlotte, who used to get sweets all stuck up in her hair, marrying a proper gentleman. A captain, no more! Oh, you do look a sight, miss! If only your sweet mama, rest her gentle soul, could be here to see you now. Mayhaps she does, mayhaps she looks after all of us. Now, let's do something about your hair." She gave the silky black locks a loving tug and told her, "No sweets anymore, eh?" and laughed.

"No," Charlotte smiled, "no more sweets. But what am I to do? I don't know the proper way to enter a room let alone survive an entire dinner. What if I embarrass him? In front of his mentor nonetheless!"

"Don't worry your pretty head off," Hill assured her amiably. "I think you're captain is so smitten with you, he'll no notice anything else especially when he sees you in this gown!"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Charlotte took a deep calming breath, trying desperately to still her wildly beating heart. She was hidden in the shadows just outside the dining room doors trying to screw up enough courage to enter. Her palms were sweating profusely under the demure silk of her elbow gloves. She was bouncing nervously on one leg, anxiously chewing on the corner of her bottom lip as curious servants passed her by, winking at her knowingly. Finally, with one slow heartening intake of breath, she smoothed her gown with one hand, turned and entered.

It was worth it! All of the worrying and apprehension, just for the look on Horatio's face when he first caught sight of her; the light in his large chocolate colored eyes. For a moment he sat, stunned, taking in the full warm beauty that was his soon to be wife, then, remembering his manners, he got to his feet, stumbling slightly as his foot got tangled with his chair leg. He flushed deeply at the error, his hungry eyes still drinking in greedily her radiance.

Nervously, she touched her hair, which was pulled back tightly with small wisps of hair framing her face and fresh orange blossoms placed around her bun, then her bosom, making sure everything was in its place. He bowed and took her hand, kissing it gently, keeping his eyes fixed on her hotly, allowing them to bow for only a moment to catch a glimpse of her ample décolletage. Her cheeks reddened.

"And who've we here, Mr. Hornblower?" a loud but tempered voice boomed from behind him. Sir Edward Pellew.

Charlotte's stomach was doing flip-flops; she so wanted the man to like her, he was so important to Horatio. He had a stern but not unkind face and, much to her relief, he was smiling.

"Pardon me, I forget my manners," Horatio said awkwardly, presenting her to Sir Edward and Lady Anne. "This is Miss Charlotte Freeman," she curtsied graciously and her blush deepened as she heard the happiness Horatio took in reciting his next words in his proud tone, "my fiancé."

"As I could have guessed," Sir Edward grinned, taking her hand and kissing it lightly with a slight bow, "though even your admittedly favorable descriptions did not do the beauty or cleverness justice."

Charlotte felt the heat in her face rise. She'd certainly never thought of herself as a beauty, not even mildly so, and certainly not as clever, and had never received such flattering compliments from proper gentlemen before.

"May I introduce to you my wife, the Lady Anne Pellew."

"A pleasure," Anne smiles genuinely, taking Charlotte's hand as she curtsied.

"Enough with all these stifling pleasantries, if you will," cried the always-reliable Abigail Bennett. "Let's to sup, eh? I'm starved!" She signaled to one of the waiting servants and a row of men with dishes balanced at shoulder level entered in form, placing them expertly upon the table.

"You look... lovely," Horatio whispered breathlessly in Charlotte's ear as he helped her into her chair next to Sir Edward and across from himself. She couldn't help but smile to herself, remembering a promise he once made to her in the heat of desire: 'I'd make love to you on the dining room table in front of Mrs. Bennett and Commodore Pellew if you asked me to.' For a moment, the imagery made her blush deeply. The Pellews' quiet manner served to put Charlotte at ease as she listened politely to their conversations, much too shy herself to join in. She felt Horatio's eyes on her all night; his heated gaze watching her intently, taking in the sight of her insatiably. His occasional saucy smile filled her with warmth and confidence and though she was still nervous the evening seemed to go by quickly and much to her surprise, fairly painlessly.

Outside, the storm raged on, its fury intensifying to the point that Abigail told the servants to go home and snuggle in for the night. They'd get for themselves anything that was needed. She worried after they'd gone that they'd get in all right.

The wind was shrieking, rattling the slatted wooden shutters violently by the time they'd decided to retire. Sir Edward was gently nuzzling his wife's slender neck as they ascended the stairs and started down the hallway to their chamber, whispering things to her softly; watching them secretly leaning in shadows, his back against the stairway banister, his arms folded across his chest, Horatio could guess what he was telling her. The same things he now longed to whisper to Charlotte; declarations of passion, sweet promises of things to come. He perked up when he caught sight of her strolling from the ladies' parlor with Mrs. Abigail on her arm. She smiled at him demurely, her eyes glittering in the dim candlelight.

"Well, I think that's enough for tonight," Mrs. Bennett said loudly, spotting Horatio waiting at the base of the stairway. "Goodnight, dearest. Sleep well. And to you, Mr. Hornblower," she added dryly with a wry smile as she passed him. "Try not to be too wanton tonight."

He blushed but smiled rakishly as he told her with mock seriousness, "I'll try, ma'am." He then turned his attention on Charlotte, who was beaming as she approached him. He wrapped his arm around her waist and playfully pulled her to him and kissed her tenderly on the jaw just below her ear. She tilted her neck obligingly to give him better access to her ticklish flesh and he ran hot kisses down her neck and across her chin.

"Now Mr. Hornblower..." Charlotte giggled, doing her best impression of Mrs. Abigail.

"Did I tell you that you looked ravishing?"

"Your eyes did," she told him softly. "You didn't take them from me all night. Do you think Commodore Pellew noticed?" she whispered.

The sound of giddy laughter followed softly down the hall and Horatio smiled sheepishly, "I dare say, he had other thoughts on his mind tonight."

"Will we be like that, do you think," Charlotte arched an eyebrow, "when we are married? Will you still want me that much?"

"Always, love," he grinned roguishly, placing his hand lightly on the swell of her bosom.

She tugged at the silken bodice of her gown impatiently and frowned, "Gracious but this thing is suffocating me! Really, I don't know how Mrs. Abigail wears them all the time; the stays are digging into my ribs! I've got to get out of it!"

A wicked gleam passed over Horatio's deep eyes as he told her, "I can assist with that, Miss Charlotte." He placed one slender finger at the low cut neck of the dress, slipping it inside between the two heaving supple spheres of her breasts and yanked playfully. He felt it again, his control slipping away; his senses drowning in her scent, his tongue eager to taste her again, his desire swelling strongly against breeches. His voice was husky as he invited, "I definitely think I can assist you with that. Let's to bed, Charley."


	15. Chapter 14

Charlotte was only too happy to relieve herself from the constrictions of the peach gown, awkwardly trying to undo the buttons at the back as Horatio removed his jacket and waistcoat and washed up in the washbasin. The angry wind howled brutally, shaking the shutters with force and Charlotte's hair came loose just as one of the verandah doors suddenly and unexpectedly blew open under the strain. She rushed to close them and caught sight of something; a light moving slowly and staggeringly across the lawns.

She paused, squinting her eyes against the sting of the heavy rain's spray. The lantern was of a unique yet familiar shape and Charlotte recognized it instantly: Raynier's. She used to watch for it in horror form her bedroom window in the kitchen house, wondering night after night if he would come to her, force her to give him what he had always demanded of her and what she'd always denied him. She shuddered. "Who would venture out in this?"

"Probably just one of the servants," Horatio said, all of a sudden at her back gazing out curiously, "trying to make their way home."

"That was hours ago, Horatio," she replied quietly. "That's Raynier's lantern, I recognize it well, its odd shape. Do you think it a ghost?" she asked breathlessly, her voice barely audible over the relentless assault of the storm.

"Somebody who probably just stole it from him," Horatio shrugged, "after..."

"They killed him?" Charlotte suggested, a cold chill running down her spine.

Horatio felt his stomach churn and quickly made to close the door again, pulling his beloved away towards the bed. He kissed her softly, working his hands beneath the cool cotton of her shift to massage the burning skin of her shoulders. She pressed up against him, rubbing slightly her body against his, eliciting a groan deep from within his throat, which reverberated through the both of them as if they were one. He smiled against her lips. "The lantern was heading up to the cove," he told her comfortingly, "perhaps it was just one of the servants, perhaps you mistook the lantern."

"Perhaps," she said unconvinced. "But the servants have decided it was too dangerous to meet at the cove. I've no doubt they still dance though, behind their closed doors, locked away in their houses. No one can stop the dance." She smiled wickedly. "Shall I dance for you, Horatio? The dance of Erzulie, the spirit of love?"

He grinned and nodded dreamily, sitting at the edge of the bed watching her ardently as at first her rounded hips began to sway seductively to some mysterious unheard but much sensed rhythm, her shoulders followed moving sensuously, her feet moving gracefully in small circles. Horatio was hypnotized, entranced by her beguiling movements. The candlelight cast dim, strange shadows on her voluptuous form as she moved and he felt his excitement grow. Her silken hair fell about her waist, swinging against her back and buttocks as she turned slowly, her eyes shown like jewels and her shift fell slightly at her shoulder, exposing a small smooth bit coffee colored skin. It was the most erotic sight he could have imagined at the moment and his mouth began to water.

Finally, he could stand no more of it. He grabbed her by the waist, interrupting her captivating dance, and, with gentle coercion, he forced her down on the bed with him, covering her body with the wicked weight of his own. He rained gentle kisses upon her face and neck and his tongue lingered at the place beneath her jaw to the side of her throat where her pulse resounded wildly.

"Tell me of your family, Horatio," she asked, delighting in the feel of his muscular body bearing into her small soft one as she ran her fingers through his satiny brown curls.

"My mother died when I was very young, I don't remember very much about her save that she was very kind and very beautiful," he answered somewhat absently, moving his mouth downwards to kiss along her collarbone. "My father's a doctor, he got me a position in the navy as a favor from an old friend and patient. He is a good man and he tried very hard for me but... I think he disapproves of some of the choices I made. I haven't corresponded with him in some time."

"But Commodore Pellew, he's like a father to you?" He nodded. "Horatio, have you ever felt as if you were alone at the center of a crowded room screaming at the tops of your lungs and everybody is either too polite or too preoccupied to even take notice?"

He answered honestly: "All the time."

She took his face in her hands gently and turned it so she could gaze into the intimate pools of his eyes. "Horatio, can I be alone with you?" she asked him deeply.

"Yes, and I with you, love," he murmured, closing his eyes, trying to contain the flood of emotion that had broken through. He kissed her slowly and passionately, savoring the taste and feel of her mouth, lingering on her bottom lip, sucking at it sensuously until Charlotte thought she'd go mad.

"Horatio," she panted when he finally pulled away. If she had made his name sound like a question the first time, she shaped it into a plea the second. "Horatio..." Her body was tingling wherever he lay his hot full lips; her mouth, her neck, her throat. He kissed so gently, so lovingly, so tenderly.

"How did Raynier hurt you, Charlotte?" he asked in a throaty tone. She took his hand in hers and, lifting her chemise a little ways, pressed his fingers to a small space of skin at the side of her torso, slightly below and at the verge of the roundness of her breast. There he felt a coin shaped disfigurement, a rough patch of skin indented into her flesh. He searched her face with an expression both questioning and rageful. Tears were standing in her eyes.

"With a red hot poker," she explained, holding his hand there when he might have pulled away. "It was only the first and was not the last, there are others."

Damn the man! The beast, to have touched his beloved so, to wound so vulnerable and lovely a creature! His cherished, his dearest! His heart swelled with anger. If the damned man wasn't already dead, Horatio felt such a rage that he could kill him now himself! Delicately he messaged the scar, quelling his wrath as he gazed into her face. He tempered himself as he stared into her lucid eyes.

"Don't pity me, Horatio. Whatever you do, don't pity me," she said, her voice so small in her throat. Suddenly, his heat turned towards passion again and his hand moved, gliding over soft skin to cup the weight of the generous swell of her breast in his hand, working her nipple into a rigid peak with his demanding palm. She moaned and wrapped her arms around his neck, arching against him.

"I do not pity you, love," he told her, his voice dusky with desire. "I love you. I want to make you happy, always." He kissed her once, then twice, on the lips lightly and moved down her body. Instinctively and in quivering anticipation of what she knew he intended to do, she spread her thighs for him. "And I want to please you and find pleasure in you." He smiled a dreamy sort of wicked thing as he brushed his lips teasingly across the tender flesh of the insides of her thighs. He was possessed by sort of a playful randiness, listening to her sighs of delight. "With my mouth, Charlotte? I crave your taste, my love," he said smoothly though he flushed slightly at the admission.

"Horatio," she moaned as his thumbs parted her moist folds and his lips and tongue descended on her. He consumed her leisurely with slow languorous sups, lapping at her silken skin hungrily, drinking her juices eagerly, occasionally nibbling and sucking on the delicate trembling bud of her womanhood, making her gasp and arch her hips against his ravenous mouth. His arousal built slowly, like an ember fanned slowly into a burning flame by the pleasing taste of her essence on his tongue and the soft dove like cries of delight escaping her lips. He felt her fingers in his hair, grasping desperately, the orgasm building within her shuddering body as he caressed her thighs and buttocks with greedy hands. His tongue snaked inside of her and she gasped, begging for him never to stop. It seemed like an eternity to her, minutes dripped by under his lustful attentions and she came forever.

She grabbed fistfuls of the bedcovers and thrashed her head back and forth, calling his name, the word rolling over her tongue again and again like honey as she came, drenching his face in her wetness as he drank her lustily. Her mind was still reeling, spinning with dazzling colors as he withdrew, licking his lips sensually like a predator who'd just gleefully finished devouring its prey. He pushed her chemise up further and laid his head on her bared stomach, softly nuzzling her belly as his large eyes watched her intently. She felt as if she could drown within them; their mysterious depths. She smiled down at him, running her hand through the smooth curls of his hair as her wild panting slowly died down. His hand still lay on her breast and he played with its hardened bud lazily, grinning seductively as he pressed his mouth, his full luscious lips, to her tummy and tickled her naval with his tongue.

"I'll never let anyone hurt you again, Charlotte," he promised with conviction, "and if anyone tries to, by God, they'll have to answer to me."

Again, he shifted her camisole upwards, exposing her breasts to the touch of his hungry heated mouth. He feasted voraciously on the stiffened peaks, first running his tongue teasing around the rigid buds in a circular motion then suckling fiercely, kissing her sweet skin demandingly, making her gasp loudly at the sensation.

"Horatio..." she pleaded. "Do you wish to make me as mad with desire for you as you were for me this afternoon?! If so, love, you are succeeding much well!"

His breath was scorching against the sensitive flesh of her breast as he replied throatily, "We've all night, Charley, and I intend to show you every delectation a man can show a woman. This is how it shall be when we are married, my love, slowly, slowly."

"I think my captain will be rather more urgent after six months at sea," she smiled and he agreed with a short laugh. He brushed the stray strands of hair from her face and captured her passion-bruised lips again. He moved, bracing himself above her with one strong arm while removing his breeches with the other without breaking their fervent kiss. She wrapped her legs around his waist and felt his pulsating rod press assertively against her moist folds of her femininity. She made a soft mewling sound, her body tingling as she moved her hips, rubbing her sex against him seductively. The burning flame of his desire had now burst into a full wildfire and he seized her hips in his firm grasp, shifting her and burying his rigid member in her silken softness forcefully though with the same carnal restraint he'd shown all evening. He thrust slowly, grinding himself against her and grinning through his haze of ecstasy as she dug her nails into his shoulders.

"Horatio," she groaned, gasping loudly with each of his slow but strong penetrations. "I think... we may have discovered... a previously hidden... weakness of moral...ahhhhh!... character... in my future husband."

He laughed, steadily increasing his rhythm as his need grew. He was savoring the feel of her; relishing her smell, her taste, the feel of her tender body wrapped around his, as he steadily plunged himself into her. His orgasm built deliberately and he wanted to enjoy every last delicious delight it had to offer.

"Does my future wife not enjoy her captain's lasciviousness?" he grunted, nuzzling her ear.

"She... aaahhhhh!... does indeed... lover!" she pressed her lips to his throat, panting ferociously, cries leaving her mouth in even beat with his now furious pumping. She held to him tightly as her rapture came, her nails leaving scratch marks in the hard tanned flesh of his back. She arched against him as she received him; he pushed one last time and came with force, spending himself inside her as he groaned her name, thrusting his tongue into the damp heat of her mouth as he did so.

"That was... nice," she smiled against his lips.

"Just nice?" he asked cocking an eyebrow and she laughed.

"Spectacular, fantastic, earth shattering," she told him with fervor.

He rolled on to his back and Charlotte snuggled close to him, resting her head against his chest, heaving with the exertion of their ecstasy. With a grin, she nibbled his stiffened nipple mischievously, tickling it with the tip of her tongue. He gave a half-groan/half-chuckle and stroked her hair lovingly.

"I liked that very much," she said simply.

"My lovely Charlotte," he told her affectionately, "there can be no limits when I am loving you. My beautiful, innocent Charley, I do love you so."

"There now," she grinned, "Archie would be proud of you for expressing your emotions so freely. Maybe that's why he brought us together, do you think? I love you too, Horatio," she said happily as she nestled her body up closer against his and they made love for the better part of the night and fell asleep in each others arms, drifting in total bliss, even as the storm's madness hammered the manor house, making it shiver and groan, and more clouds gathered on the horizon.


	16. Chapter 15

Charlotte was greeted by the pleasant surprising sight of sunlight when she awoke the next morning, smiling drowsily as her eyes fluttered open. Horatio was sitting in the chair next to the bed, watching her deeply. He was dressed, though casually, and Charlotte guessed by the shadow of daylight falling across the room that it was nearing noon. "Oh," she groaned, stretching, spreading her sensuous body across the bed, letting the sheets fall away from her naked flesh, smiling at the excited look that lit Horatio's eyes. "I've slept late. Old Mother would scold me for that. She'd say 'Ye not to old fer me ta give ye a red bottom, girl!'," she laughed. "You didn't have to wait for me to wake."

"I was frightened you'd vanish as you did yesterday," he replied softly, leaning forward with his elbows upon his knees. "Mrs. Bennett was by some time ago, with more dresses she thought you'd like."

"Were you abashed, that she found me in your bed again?" Charlotte asked playfully.

Horatio laughed and flushed slightly. "I believe she said something about me being a `particularly virile young man' and that I reminded her of her late husband when they were courting. Come, get dressed and breakfast with me?"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Well, look who's come down to join us!" Bones grinned as Charlotte entered the kitchen house. "And dressed like a proper lady, no less," he said taking her hand and making her do a turn for him, showing off one of the dresses Mrs. Abigail had given her in a twirl of pink cotton. "Oh, Charley, you look lovelier than I'd ever have imagined. Share in some bread with us?" he asked, offering her some of their meager feast.

Charlotte put her hand across her stomach and groaned teasingly, "What, after having to partake of the inexhaustible feast you created for the manor house this morning? I couldn't eat another bite!"

She sat on Bones' lap and, wrapping his arms around her waist, he gave her a tender squeeze. "We were worried on you yesterday, Charley. You were distressed."

Yes, that's what she'd come to talk about, she told him and she had to see Old Mother immediately. He told her the ancient woman was in her room and she gave him a quick peck on the cheek before going off to find her.

"Knew ye were comin'," she said from her place on the floor where she was still consulting the bones, as Charlotte entered the room. "The old Doctor told me as much. You been taking those herbs I given ye?"

"Every morning in my tea," Charlotte replied placing her hand on her stomach over her womb. "It's been working, right?"

"You carry no child," Old Mother confirmed, grunting with exertion as she struggled to get to her feet, leaning heavily on her cane. "And you thank the loa for that every moment of the day because it is through their good graces. They favor you, always have though you've shown them little loyalty. I can see them about you always. You need more of the herbs," she said, not asking but stating, pointing a finger at the girl, "but that's not why you come to see Old Mother today is it? You want to know about what you saw in the cards yesterday."

"I saw death," Charlotte said shakily, the memory still making her stomach turn.

"And see death you shall," Old Mother replied ominously, "if ye stay out here long. Ye shouldn't have come today, child."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A half an hour earlier: It all started at the Inn, where most things start as there are usually many bored and inebriated men sitting about with nothing better to do than gossip and cast suspicions. Lately all their gossip and suspicions had dwelt on the Raynier murder, so they were ripe for what was coming. The vagrant entered, still water logged from being about in last night's raging storm and still clutching Raynier's lantern in his grimy grip. He was dismissed at first with 'Oh, here comes Crazy Joshua again' and 'It's Joshua again, get the rum ready'. But he demanded attention by slamming the lantern down upon the nearest table and claiming rather loudly that he knew exactly who was responsible for his friend Marcus Raynier's death.

Lt. Bush, who was sitting quietly to himself in the corner of the dining area, did not like this one bit and he thought he knew where it was heading when the man began to speak of the 'coloreds' and their 'ungodly rituals'. The foul man produced evidence of their black rites, candles and beads stained in blood, which he claimed to be Raynier's. He'd better warn Horatio quickly; if he left now he'd be at The Chase before the mob could organize themselves. And organize themselves they would, he had no doubt about that.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"That noise, I know it," Charlotte said, her voice quavering. The sound, in the distance but slowly growing louder, was very familiar to her; it had haunted her since the visions had come yesterday: a lynch mob. "Something... something has to be done, someone needs to warn Mrs. Abigail or the others working in the fields..."

"Too late now," Old Mother lamented. "They out for blood and they'll not be happy 'til they see our necks stretched from a tree."

Just then Bones barged in, a look of sheer terror written on his face. "They're here. They've finally come for us."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Bush sprinted out of the rented carriage and through the front doors of The Chase, wasting no time on pleasantries and certainly not waiting to be announced. He burst into the parlor, where The Chase's small resident party sat and Abigail started, "Mr. Bush, you look a fright! Do take a seat and tell us the matter."

"No time," Bush replied desperately. "They're raising a mob, I fear they're upon you already. They've come for your servants, they think one of them killed Raynier."

"No doubt with Arnauds urging," Abigail said bitterly. "Fetch the rifles, John," she instructed her nearest servant, who recognized the urgency and dashed off immediately. Horatio was already out of his seat. Good God, Charlotte had gone out there today, to talk to Old Mother. His Charlotte was out there, his beloved at the mercy of a bloodthirsty mob. Pellew held him back.

"We can't do anything without weapons," the older man said calmly and reasonably though there was fire in his eyes. "I've seen mobs before, they are frenzied, they'd kill anything that gets in their path."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Before she even knew what was happening, the mob had burst through the kitchen house doors and were dragging ruthlessly its occupants out into the lawns, the woman and children by the hair. Charlotte was roughly escorted out of doors and thrown upon the ground like an animal and it was then she heard the cry: "That her, I recognize the chit anywhere. It's the half breed I saw that night with Raynier in the darkness, her and the other one what I couldn't see in the darkness." It was the vagrant, Joshua, pointing a bony accusatory finger at Charlotte.

"No," Bones nearly shrieked, running to her defense, throwing men off her left and right with his powerful arms.

"No, leave her alone."

"String him up first," a spiteful anonymous voice cried from the crowd, "he was probably the other!"

"I recognize the girl," another voice, this time a woman, spat out. "It's the colored who thinks she's good enough to marry a white man, a gentleman nonetheless. She ain't too good to kill one though, is she?"

"I love you, Charley," he cried as the rope was already being fitted around Bones' neck, the other end of it being attached to a nearby tree. Charlotte was shouting, crying furiously, though if the sounds were even leaving her throat she could not be sure as the vengeful din of the mob were drowning her out. She watched in horror as they hoisted Bones up, his feet dangling above the ground, his face frozen with fear as the air was forced from him.

"You're next, girlie," a voice told her with a depraved laugh as hands grabbed at her; pulling at her hair, ripping her dress, taunting her wickedly.

Suddenly, a shot rang out and the rope about a foot above Bones' head snapped, allowing him to fall to the ground, gasping the fill his aching lungs with air. The mob quieted instantly, turning to see Abigail standing steadfastly, her rifle still aimed and smoking. Her husband had taught her how to shoot and she'd been an exceedingly talented student. Years of practice had turned her into an expert marksman. She discarded it quickly and pulled a loaded pistol from her belt. The others with her, Commodore Pellew, Lt. Bush and Captain Hornblower, held still their loaded rifles and bellowed for the crowd to disperse. When Horatio spotted Charlotte, he rushed forward without thinking, willfully knocking away from him anyone who got in his way.

He was in a murderous way as he took Charlotte, her hair falling about her messily, her dress torn and ragged from cruel hands, into his arms, cradling her trembling body in his arms.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, all of you!" Abigail barked. "Jonathan Martin, get on home to your wife and children before I send for them to come and get you. And you, Harold Harmon, and Richard and Katherine Wellesly! You should be ashamed, all of you! No get off my land before I have the constabulary arrest you all!"

Slowly, the crowd began to dissipate. Horatio's eyes flashed with rage as he watched them go, to think of what they were planning and that they were just walking away from it! But he had more pressing concerns, he remembered as Charlotte snaked an unsure hand around his neck. "Take her to the house," Abigail told him, "I'll make sure the rest are alright."

Horatio nodded reluctantly, turning and heading towards The Chase. Charlotte could see over his shoulder the vagrant, sneaking away, but not far, towards the barn.

"That's two days in a row now I've given you a fright," she tried to joke as Horatio set her down on a couch in the parlor, but her quaking voice betrayed her.

"Shhh, my love, it's alright," he told her, pulling her to him intimately and stroking her hair. She began to weep so he cradled her closer, kissing her brow tenderly. "Are you hurt, Charley? Did they hurt you, love? Shhh, it's alright now. I told you, Charlotte, I'll always be there to dive in after you. I promise. I'll never let anyone hurt you again, remember? Put your arms around me, sweet," he urged gently and she complied, wrapping them around him tightly, feeling for the first time that he was trembling just as much as she. He soothed her with devoted loving words, whispered in low tones into her ear as his hands moved on her back softly.

Suddenly, Lady Anne appeared with a basin in one arm and gasped violently when she caught sight of Charlotte.

"Is she injured?" she asked, kneeling beside her and placing the back of her hand to her brow. She dipped a cloth into the basin and laid it upon her forehead, hoping to refresh her.

"A few bruises, a few bumps," Horatio replied. "We got there just in time. But she does shake so, I can't seem to calm her."

"Just keep at what you are doing," Lady Anne smiled warmly. "I think if it were not for that she would be in hysterics. She'll be needing rest. Take her to bed, Mr. Hornblower, and stay with her until she is asleep."


	17. Interlude 2 ~ Lady of the House

Abigail blew a prolonged breath from her lungs and leaned back against a tree in her own secluded spot on the grounds of The Chase. Her fiery hair was disheveled, her face flushed with anger and exertion and her gown a wreck. She discarded her pistol in disgust and was happy just to have a moment alone after the confusion and animosity of the day's events. She jumped at a light touch upon her shoulder. She turned to gaze into the deep blue-green of Lt. Bush's eyes, sighing when she recognized him.

"I thought you'd gone back to the manor with Sir Edward," she said with a small smile.

"I did," he answered softly. "But I worried on you and how you were getting on. Everyone is alright?"

"As alright as they're going to be after today's incident," she collapsed to the grass. Bush followed her, leaning in closer than a gentleman ought to have. "How could I let it happen?"

"It wasn't your fault," he said soothingly, placing a gentle hand on her thigh. "You couldn't have known it would come to this." He moved his hand to her stomach, caressing tenderly.

"Mr. Bush," she said hesitantly, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the trunk of the tree, "What exactly is it you think you're doing?"

"If you have to ask..." he chuckled, his voice a low growl.

"Perhaps you should get back to the manor," she said quietly making no attempt to stop his gentle fondling. "Mr. Hornblower could use the comfort of a friend."

"I believe Mr. Hornblower already has someone to comfort him," he replied, leaning in closer until his hot breath blew lightly the hairs about her face. "You are out here alone, I assumed you were the one in need of comforting." He moved his hand from her belly upwards to cup her breast, and gave a quiet laugh as she suppressed a gasp as he paid the soft globe the same attention he had her stomach.

"Mr. Bush," his name came from her lips on a breathy sigh.

There had been no denying the attraction between them. From the moment he'd first laid his eyes upon her in her parlor, he'd found himself thinking on her. One night, alone in his room at the inn, he had brought himself to bliss with the image of her in his mind, now he longed to fulfill the fantasy and, much to his delight, she did not seek to stop him. He reached up with his other hand and slowly undid her already falling down hair, letting it fall between them like rose scented flame.

"I'm in no state," she began to protest but he silenced her with a kiss, the gentle provocative brush of his mouth against hers, his tongue curiously skirting the expanse of her bottom lip. She parted her lips for him and the rough heat of his tongue moved inside, claiming her mouth in a deep, seeking kiss.

She felt his tender touch on her hips, urging her to shift until she was seated on his lap, her thighs on either side of his hips. They kissed passionately as she helped him remove his jacket, sliding it over and down his shoulders, relishing the feel of his strong muscles reacting to her touch through the cool cotton of his shirt. Next came his waistcoat and the delicious feel of his chest under the fabric as she spread her palms against it. Meanwhile his hands were busy at the back of her gown, undoing the buttons with deft practiced fingers. Neither of them held any pretense that they or the other party were innocent or virtuous. He admired her lack of modestly. She was straightforward, matter of fact, from years he suspected spent running The Chase as the lady of the house. "Lieutenant..." she murmured between kisses as her dress gave way 'neath his fingers and he yanked it forward down her fair shoulders and arms and her bosom. He quickly undid the tie of her low cut chemise, exposing her breast to his hungry touch. Her skin was soft and tanned and blossomed beneath his caress, her pink nipples peaking under the leisurely flicks of his skilled thumbs. He drew one of the stiff buds between his pearly white teeth, nibbling delicately eliciting a cry from her lips. She tangled her fingers in his softly curled hair as he suckled her fiercely, one eager nipple then the other, igniting a fire within her that had long laid dormant.

Instinctively she pressed her hips into his, moaning as she felt his desire for her hard through their layers of clothing. She reached between them and massaged his ample erection through his breeches, making him throw his head back and groan gratefully. She pulled his shirt over his head and undid the laces of his trousers pulling them just far enough down that he was exposed to her. She was mildly surprised at the physical state of his arousal, his long firm manhood standing fully upright from its nest of coarse dark brown curls awaiting her touch.

His eyes drifted closed and a moan escaped his parted lips as he shifted his hips somewhat, begging without words for her sweet pleasing touch. She smiled, running her palm across his velvety length, feeling it jump beneath her touch as she took his flat hard nipple between her lips, tickling it with her tongue, sucking it deeply. He smelled and tasted wonderful; of testosterone and sweat, his maleness was intoxicating. She was stroking his masculinity with both hands now and his hips began rocking in time to her caress as joyful growls reverberated from his throat. It had been a long time since she'd done this kind of thing but the look of sheer bliss on Bush's face urged her on. She bent and took him into the wet burning heat of her mouth, causing the muscles of his stomach to jerk violently as a roar erupted from him. He could think of no greater pleasure than this beautiful woman, whom he so admired and desired, taking him into her mouth and suckling him. He pushed her hair away and leaned back in the grass so he could watch her as she drew him in and out, furiously stroking him with her lips and tongue.

The smell of magnolias drifted to him as his head lolled back and ecstasy was almost was upon him. Hesitantly he disentangled her from him and pushed her up against the tree, her breasts bearing into the rough skin of his chest. He wanted her to feel ecstasy, wanted her to feel the bliss she was so fervently offering him. He drew her skirt up and caressed her rose petal thighs before parting her moist folds and thrusting his fingers inside her, his thumb massaging the tight bud of her womanhood, making her cry aloud in her madness for him. She was tight and slick and ready for him and he teased her for a moment more, rolling her nub between his thumb and forefinger before withdrawing his hand and positioning her upon his lap again, sucking her essence from his fingers with a soft moan.

He grasped her hips and plunged into her forcibly, pushing past the slight resistance and filling her fully with his generous length. He pressed his lips to hers desperately as he moved, thrusting frantically, wanting to feel every inch of himself wrapped within her silken skin. She looked upon his handsome face, a sense of wonder in her eyes. She hadn't felt these spectacular sensations since her husband had passed and all she wanted to do was to drink in his beauty as she felt him penetrate her, satisfy her as no man had in years. He pushed her hair from her face, stroking his thumb across her cheek when he noticed her watching him so intently. He kissed her profoundly before drawing her closer to him and resting her head against his shoulder.

Loud, pleasurable sounds flew from her throat matched only by his own sounds of rapture. His rhythm increased as he felt himself, her soft fragrant body wrapped so tightly about him, spiraling towards ultimate ecstasy. He felt her climax come a breath before his; she shuddered aggressively as she cried out, digging her nails deeply into the thick skin of his shoulders. He gave a coarse shout and pulsed his seed into her, panting as if he'd just run a marathon. He leaned her back against the tree and leaned himself against her, kissing her hair softly. "I haven't had a man since my husband died," she said finally, after the rippling waves of pleasure had diminished somewhat.

"I hope I didn't disappoint," he said with a quiet chuckle. He didn't want it to end; he didn't want to withdraw from her satiny warmth. He wanted to stay like this forever; her in his arms, trembling with the aftermath of his loving but he knew that he could not. Dusk was descending, she would be wanted at the manor house and he should be getting back to the inn.

"You did not, sir," she grinned lazily. "And I hope you will continue not to do so."

"Was that an invitation to your bed, Mrs. Bennett?" he asked raising an eyebrow in mock surprise.

"Do you find me wanton, Mr. Bush?"

He laughed again, "Only as much so as myself, for the idea of having you in your bed much appeals to me." It was then he finally drew the strength to disengage himself from her. She watched him with hungry eyes as he stood and dressed. Her gaze was so intent and heated, like a gentle caress over his body he felt himself reacting to her physically again. 'Easy there, boy,' he told himself, 'plenty of time for it later.'

"You will come won't you?" she asked biting her lip.

He bent and kissed her slowly promising that he would, and he added with a wink that he still had many delectations to feast upon. With that thought on his mind, he watched her depart to the manor and he to the carriage that would take him back to the inn, and later, under the cover of darkness, back to The Chase to be with her, so he could bury his mouth between her thighs, taste her essence and bring her to bliss with his tongue, to feel her lips wrap around his even now hardening shaft, to plunge himself deep within her soft slick skin again and again and again. He watched the clock at the inn intently and then the carriage arrived to take him to The Chase. Abigail was waiting for him and with a smile and a crook of her finger she beckoned him to her bedchamber and took him to the heights of ecstasy all night long.


	18. Chapter 16

He was still out there, waiting to do some sort of harm. He had a plan, that vagrant of Raynier's, or he wouldn't have tried to raise a lynch mob against them. He wouldn't have sneaked away, towards the barn to lie in wait for some insidious purpose. Charlotte pretended to sleep while Horatio watched over her, kissing her or stoking her hand at intervals until he grew restless and left. Her captain, he'd always be looking after her, she thought as she slid off the bed, but he was not to know of this. It was her vision, he had said he had seen her with Raynier and another: a dark shape of a man, like her dream, the dream of her own form changing to that of Baron Cemetiere.

No, she should tell him! He'd help her; he'd take care of her as he'd done as of this far. But she was possessed by the vision. She had to speak to the vagrant on equal terms and that meant going alone.

Dusk was already falling (How long had she kept up her slumbering charade?) as she slipped out of the manor house unnoticed. Being raised as a servant had its advantages, she was well versed in how to glide by unnoticed. She saw a light shining in the loft of the barn, brilliant against the oppressive gloom of evening, and proceeded cautiously, hiding the pistol she'd stolen discreetly earlier in her skirts.

"I know who you are," she said quietly, setting foot through the barn doors tentatively. "I need to talk to you. I need to know if it was me you really saw that night with Raynier. Her only response was a low gruff grunt. `I shouldn't have come alone,' she thought, swallowing hard and beginning to back out. She gave a startled cry as she felt something at her back, preventing her escape. She spun around quickly, coming face to face with the ragged old vagrant. He held up Raynier's lantern and flashed her a toothless smile.

"My, my, but Raynier didn't exaggerate on your charms," he licked his lips lecherously, moving the lantern so its light was cast upon her ample bosom, his grimy stringy hair falling about his dirty face. "But you're a stupid, stupid chit iffin you came here all by your little lonesome, eh? Didn't nobody never teach you nothing? A little girl all alone..."

"I know who you are," she repeated, all along chastising herself for being as stupid as to not tell Horatio she was coming here, to not tell him the vagrant had sneaked off to the barn to lie in wait and hide.

"I doubt it or elsen you wouldn't be here, I think," the man cackled. "Come sit with me for a while, eh?" he said indicating a nearby stool. "There things you want to ask me, I think, things you want to know, eh? About that night perhaps? About what I sees?" His voice was a menacing whisper. "About the shadow figures?"

"How did you get Raynier's lamp?" she asked breathlessly, aware that he was advancing on her, forcing her backwards away from the door. Voices whispered at the back of her mind, whispered warnings, cooing softly in her ears wicked intentions, making the hair at the back of her neck stand on end. 'The spirits are about me,' she thought strangely. 'Mama, Archie, are you here? I would be ever so much braver if you were.'

"Why, I took it from him right after I slits his throat, little girl," he grinned, pulling a dagger from his waistband. "Was I... was I there?" she asked, her heart racing with fear. "I need to know, please. Did you really see two figures in the darkness?" The whispers grew louder, hissing at her, and Archie's was there as well, as she'd hoped but she could not hear what he was saying, lost in the din of the shaded voices. And she felt something else, another presence forever entwined with hers. It made her heart bold.

"Perhaps I did. A man can see many a strange vision in the darkness of this haunted place," he sneered. Oh, she was so stupid, why didn't she tell Horatio? Where was her captain now? Probably sitting down to supper, believing she was still fast asleep in the comfort of his bed, his only care worrying on whether or not she'd be alright. How ironic. "I've seen you, in the cove you dance with them, you practice magic. Yes, I know you, little girl."

"Who are you?" she asked finally. The presence was getting closer; she could feel it like gooseflesh up and down her arms. She wasn't alone. She'd never be alone.

"I thought you knew that already," he jeered maliciously. "Don't you even know my name? Joshua Raynier?"

Charlotte gasped audibly; she did know who he was, she recognized his face now in the murky flickering light. He'd worked here at The Chase in the days of the old master when she was but a child. She remembered him, those awful twisted features. He'd demanded things of her mother, just as Raynier had of her. It was a beating at his cruel hands that had finally led her mother into the fevered state that had killed her. Charlotte's fists curled in rage. She dug her heels into the floor and stood her ground; he would not see her frightened, he would not intimidate her, she wouldn't give him the pleasure. Blood was trickling down her wrist and she'd realized she had curled her fist so tightly, her nails digging into her scar so brutally it had opened again.

"And this here, this is the very knife what I used to slits his throat with. Yes, Marcus had a nice little set up here, I even had a job at The Chase once. In the days of my master, little nosy coloreds such as yourself were put in their place right and proper. Than that BITCH," he spat out the word contemptuously, "married Master Gabriel and he wanted his slaves to be freedmen. There was no more room for men with my talents for keeping your lot in line. Marcus didn't care, he gave me up, my 'barbarism', the death of your mother, to Master Gabriel so he could keep his own job and what am I now? A drifter, a vagrant, forced into begging my brother for scraps of food. But Gabriel died and his wife wasn't quite so easily fooled. Marcus told me to leave; he was frightened I'd give him away. I know all about his attentions to you, I tried to blackmail him. Finally, he refused to pay, threatened to tell Mrs. Bennett all about me, give me up a second time. I had to do something, and I did. Yes, the spirits were about that night. But it wasn't until last night, when I was about the grounds lookin' for a-something t'eat that I stumbled upon an idea: lay the blame on your lot. Everyone knows the magic you practice, the blood sacrifices. It would be easy enough to rally them up against you; the revolution on Santa Domino has them all terrified. I stumbled out to the cove, took a few things for evidence, said they were the workings of your pagan rites against Marcus. Now what to do with you, lurker in darkness, mistress of shadows."

"You will not touch her," came a stern, angry but steady voice behind him. It was Joshua's turn to spin around in surprise only to find Horatio standing merely feet away from him, the presence, pointing a cocked pistol straight at the man's head. He knew Charlotte too well, had watched her sleep enough to know when she was faking it, trying to get rid of him. Or perhaps it was the spirits who had told him, it had been an odd sensation at the back of his brain. He had waited in the shadows outside his chamber until she had risen and, in his determination to protect her, followed her. By all the sneakery, he knew she wasn't going to Old Mother again and feared she'd gotten herself into some trouble. He'd been right.

"Go ahead, master seaman," the man dared him, "I've watched you with this one. I know you want to kill me for what I was gonna do to her, what I want to do to her," he licked his lips leeringly.

"No," Horatio said calmly. Then he called Bones' name. The tall lank man, his neck bruised badly and his face wan and gaunt, entered with a few of the other servants. "I'll leave you to them. They are the ones who deserve justice. You will sing your repentance to them, though I doubt the song will fall on sympathetic ears." He pulled Charlotte to him and led her away. "What will they do to him, Horatio?" she asked shuddering as she stole a glance backwards towards the barn. "It's not for us," was all he replied.


	19. Chapter 17

"I'm sorry, Horatio," she said quietly, sitting upon his bed, looking on him as he took a sip of brandy resting his shoulder against the verandah door frame. He turned to her frowning.

"What for, my love?"

"Not confiding in you, trying to trick you," she shrugged morosely, not daring to meet his gaze. "I wouldn't blame you at all for being cross with me. But I needed to know, about the cove that night and what I did and said. What he claimed he saw the night of Raynier's death..." she tried to explain.

Horatio strode over to her and took her face in his hands, forcing her to look into his eyes. "How can I be angry with you, Charlotte," he said gently, brushing the stray strands of hair from her forehead tenderly. "I've told you, you've done nothing wrong and I will always be there, even when I am away at sea. Think of me and I think you will invoke me. Work your magic on me, my love." He took her hands in his and kissed each palm gently, lingering over her scar with his tongue. "I am yours forever." He fingered the ring he'd given her, playing with it delicately, "And soon I will show everyone that I am, sooner than planned. I've received my orders, Charley, I am to set sail in a month's time."

She let out a small cry of dismay. "But it's not fair! I've had you for such a short time."

"You'll have me forever, Charlotte, but there is a war and my duty is there."

"I know," she said softly, surrendering her mouth to the delicate touch of his lips. "I will work my magic on you, my captain," she said huskily, sliding her hand down his torso to the generous bulge in his pants. It hardened instantly at her caress. He groaned gratefully, kissing her again, more deeply this time as her hand snaked under his shirt, across his flat belly and into the waistband of his trousers. She tasted the brandy on his tongue, its bittersweet taste mingling with the delicious flavor of him.

"Charley," he groaned with a hoarse chuckle as she raked her fingers through the coarse hair of his groin relishing the feel of the soft skin beneath, "I don't think this is what they mean by 'navy service'."

Her fingers brushed the soft throbbing flesh of his manhood and he gasped loudly, all of his muscles tensing at the contact. She unbuttoned his breeches with one hand while continuing to stroke as much of him as she could reach through the top of his tight pants.

"My brave hero," she whispered against his lips. "I believe your damsel in distress owes you much reward."

His trousers gave way and she slipped them past his hips and buttocks slowly. They glided down easily, puddling at his ankles and he stepped out of them, pulling his shirt over his head simultaneously. She bowed her head and put her lips to one of his taut nipples, kissing and sucking hungrily, eliciting a loud groan from deep within him, before she dared to cast her eyes downwards at his stiffened manhood. He was beautiful, full and erect, his pulsating rod stood out from the dark mat of curls at his groin. He could see her blush deeply even in the faint candlelight as her hand fell to him and stroked timidly. It jumped at her touch, hardening further under her fingers tender and attentive graze.

Her name came from his gently parted lips in a deep growling groan as she lowered her mouth and delicately kissed the throbbing head, licking the glistening tip, flicking it with her wild tongue. His taste was tangy, masculine, and she enjoyed it, sending a shiver down her spine, as she drew the eager and swollen head into the wet embrace of her mouth. His hoarse shout of pleasure reverberated through the still quiet of the room as she drew him deeply and suckled fiercely. His hands flew to the sides of her head, holding her there as she drew him in and out, stroking the underside of his ample heated velvety length with her curious tongue.

"Don't... stop...," he moaned as his hips began to rock, his fingers grabbing at her hair; twirling in it, pulling her in closer to him in hopes of burying himself further into the pleasing burning moistness of her mouth. He began sweating, groaning as she devoured him, the idea of spilling in her mouth sending him over the edge. She cupped his taut heavy balls in her hands massaging them gently as she felt his orgasm build, knowing by some primitive instinct that that would bring him more pleasure and wanting to bring him to the very height of bliss imaginable. He began to thrust aggressively, trying to drive himself deeper inside her, calling her name and, feeling her tongue teasing the flesh of his erect satiny shaft, her fingers fondling his balls, her lips stroking him, he poured hotly his seed into her mouth with a violent cry of release as she drank him in. His whole body was trembling with the force of his rapture, the veins standing out at his neck and forehead as ecstasy washed over him again and again. He collapsed on the bed, his senses slowly coming back to him, panting heavily. She licked her lips, savoring his salty taste and he pulled her to him, kissing her ferociously sucking his own flavor from her mouth and tongue.

"Did I do that right?" she asked innocently. "Did I pleasure you, Horatio?"

He chuckled, his breath still leaving his lungs in heavy panting gasps. "Charlotte, I am awash with pleasure, my love." He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. "I felt as if I was being turned inside out, every nerve in my body was vibrating. I liked you doing that very much."

"I liked doing that," she smiled, snuggling against him. She blushed. "I--I like the way you taste. Am I very wicked?"

"You are the most wicked girl I know," he kissed her atop her head. He took her face in his hand and turned it so he may kiss the purpling area around her mouth and jaw on the left side where she'd been struck violently by one of the mob this afternoon. He regarded her, how remarkable she was that she could rest so serenely in his arms after what she'd suffered today; the physical abuse as well as the mighty frights she'd been dealt. And her concern at the moment was if she was pleasing *him*?! How strong she was; how brave. He hurt for her very badly and wanted very much to comfort her, to love her, to please *her*.

"Then, when we are husband and wife, I will service my captain so whenever he pleases," she grinned.

"Oh don't say that, my love," he groaned mischievously, "you'll never get me from your mouth, you'll have to take to walking around on your knees!"

"Wicked! Wicked, wanton man!" Charlotte gasped, shocked and flushed at his bold and salacious statement, giving him a gentle chastising slap upon his belly and he laughed. "Once again your moral character comes into question! What have you to say for yourself, sir?!"

He pressed his full luscious mouth to hers and murmured, nuzzling the delicate shell of her ear, "I say I cannot wait for us to marry, my sweet. I'm different with you, Charley, do you know that? I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid to be myself, to.... be at ease with you. I'm not afraid to let you in... to the deepest parts of me."

She kissed him lightly on the jaw and told him, "I know, Horatio. And I'm not afraid of anything when I'm with you, or when I know you're with me. When I was in the barn with Raynier's brother, I knew you were there; I don't know how but I felt it and it made me bold, made me safe."

"That's it," Horatio said as if he'd just reached a destination he'd had no idea he was heading for but was much glad to get there. "You make courageous, you make me bold."

"But you are bold in battle," she said dramatically with a small chuckle.

"But timid in life, Charlotte. I've always been... lonely, I've never really known how to be with other people. It's different with you."

"I know," she whispered mysteriously, "Archie told me. He told me..." she adopted a playful tone, twirling a lock of his hair around one of her slender fingers, "... you were very stern," she said with a mock frown, "but you were a man of honor, of discipline, of sensibility of the highest order. Do you believe I talk to the dead?"

"I don't know. I'm inclined to believe so much now. It's this place, the atmosphere; it's ripe with dreams and darkness. I think it has swallowed me whole." He looked to her; her eyes had drifted shut and her breathing calmed as sleep overtook her. He smiled, pulling the bedcovers around them and holding her tightly and soon peace was upon him too.


	20. Chapter 18

"What's happened here?" Abigail asked in horror coming upon a tree as she was strolling with Charlotte around the grounds of The Chase the next morning.

A small crowd of the servants had gathered around said tree, murmuring secretively in low tones to each other, and they stepped aside for their mistress. A man hung from a rope from one of the branches, his legs and arms dangling limply, his limp, stringy hair half covering his death-purpled face. He was bare-chested and strange symbols and burn marks adorned his torso, some made before he'd been killed, some after, some still bleeding as if the wounds were fresh which they obviously were not.

"Look away, darling," Abigail warned the delicate Charlotte, but she could not, so transfixed by the sight was she, watching the gently swaying shadow of the hanged man against the green grass, deceptively golden and tranquil sunlight filtering through the eaves of the tree to cast the ominous shadowy apparition.

"Mr. Joshua Raynier, you old cuss, never thought I'd see you again," Mrs. Bennett said beneath her breath, "and now I never shall. Tell me what happened here!" she entreated loudly of her faithful servants.

"Mum, forgive me Mrs. Abigail, mum," a young girl stepped forward, "we found him like this this morning. Ben Willis, that's Bones, mum, heard him confess to the crime of murdering his own brother, mum, he's been seen around the grounds for many a night, years by some, arguing with Mr. Raynier. And this morning we found him like this."

"Cut him down and burn him," Abigail said disgustedly. "I think we've all seen justice served, all around. Have Mr. Arnauds do it then tell him to come to the manor house, I've something important to discuss with him. Come Charlotte, the stench of death is much strong here. Let us away."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"I suppose, Mr. Arnauds," Abigail said coldly, regarding him from her couch near the parlor's verandah doors, "you were aware of Mr. Joshua Raynier's presence on my plantation all this time?" Arnauds didn't answer, he just cast a suspicious glance towards Horatio who stood sternly his shoulder leaning against the doorframe. "I'll take your silence as confirmation of my suspicions. You were a very good friend to my father and that is why I have kept you on but Captain Hornblower here has brought to me certain bits of information as to your behavior towards the servants of The Chase and I am certain I can tolerate your presence here no longer. You are officially given notice, you are to leave before the night of tomorrow."

Horatio couldn't or even be bothered to hide his obvious pleasure. The man scowled at his cold smirk, pointing an accusatory pudgy finger at him. "It's him, the bastard. He starts having his sport with the colored whores..."

"I've heard quite enough," Abigail snarled. "Please be gone from my sight!"

As Arnauds passed Horatio, the younger man caught the older man's arm and, with anger raging in his eyes, told him with hardness and uncharacteristic viciousness, "I do not tolerate people who hurt those I love. She is more dear to me than my own life. You made the worst of enemies in me that morning in the barn. I want you to remember that!" The man shook free from his grasp, spit at him and stormed out.

"Oh, very good, Mr. Hornblower," Abigail commended him. "If there was ever any doubt as to your intentions with my Charlotte they are cleared, you are exonerated, sir! Tell me, did they teach you that in the navy? If so, I think I should like to marry a navy man. Your Mr. Bush is free is he not?" she asked slyly. "Still though, the courtship is rather short by necessity, isn't it? I think you and he both would be much suited to this life." she added thoughtfully.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Is this a dream?" Charlotte murmured airily, gazing at the reflection in the mirror that was almost alike her but not quite. "Perhaps I haven't woken yet."

She stroked her hand down the off white satin and lace bodice of the dress she wore as if only the touch of her fingertips would confirm its reality. She'd been restless all night, which was not uncommon for a bride on the night before her wedding, but strange specters had haunted her. At one point she'd awoken to see the hazy form of her mother sitting at the edge of her bed, the way she had done the night she had died, speaking but inaudibly. At first she'd smiled, thinking it a good omen for things to come but mama's look was severe, worried. She'd looked to Horatio, who at that point was fast asleep and when she looked back, the phantom was gone. Another time she was roused from sleep by a shadow that looked like Archie, pacing back and forth restlessly in a darkened corner of the room. He did not look at her and said nothing but shook his head sadly, only to disappear as mama had.

"You look a vision," Hill grinned broadly. "And how proud your mama would be if she could see you now."

Charlotte started at the statement but tried to adopt an easy smile to hide it. "Don't you worry none, lovely, everyone's nervous on their big day. Your gentleman's probably sweating just as much, if not more so, as we speak. He's a nice sort," the older woman giggled, "vary handsome, that one is. Oh my, my little Charley, with the sweets all up in her hair no longer, I think I'm gonna cry now."

Just then, Abigail breezed in in her usual flustered manner and with her usual impeccable timing. She smiled when she caught sight of Charlotte, giving her a kiss on the cheek where a bruise still lingered. "My, my but don't you look every inch the proper lady. This was my very own wedding dress," the woman said fondly admiring its fit on her half-sister, her eyes glistening with tears never to be shed. "I see Mrs. Harrison has done a fine job in taking it in and taking it out where appropriate. Come now, everything is set. We don't want to keep them waiting."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Steady there, Mr. Hornblower," Mr. Bush smiled, turning his face towards the brilliant sun. "You're shaking more than a topsail in a squall."

"Yes, thank you once again, Mr. Bush, for your insightful commentary," Horatio replied rather peevishly. His perspiration had more to do with his nerves than it did with his heavy dress uniform and the beating rays of the sun, he had to admit, but he would never have acknowledged it to his smug friend.

"I've never been a best man before," Bush said somewhat whimsically with a sharp grin. "I daresay, no one's ever accused me of being a best man in anything before."

"Really?" Horatio said in mock surprise. "And why do you suppose that is?"

"One needs first to be a good man to be a best man, Mr. Hornblower," Bush laughed. Then he said more seriously, placing a firm hand on his friend's shoulder in a fond grasp. "But I am honored that the bridegroom felt fit to name me so."

"And I am honored to have you here, Will," he replied sincerely. He shifted his feet uncomfortably, shuffling the white sand around his boots.

A wedding on the beach, what could be more romantic in this haunted tropical place. Romantic, if not particularly practical. The sun was shining brightly that day, casting an unbearable heat upon all the uniformed officers and even the tanned ladies and lords who were generally used to the sweltering air. He looked to Sir Edward, who was like a father to him, who seemed to be enjoying himself most immensely and who winked reassuringly when he caught Horatio's uneasy glance. Suddenly, there was a stir and the music began to play and Horatio entered a dream-like reality, where everything seemed to glow and move in slow motion. The air, the wind, the sky, the ground, all seemed to blend into one supernatural entity. He saw her and his lungs lost all their breath at the sight.

She was beautiful, a vision in white, smiling at him demurely as she walked down the makeshift aisle on Commodore Pellew's arm, who'd graciously agreed to give her away. She reached the alter and took Horatio's hand, her stomach doing anxious flip-flops. He looked so handsome in his dress uniform and she blushed as wanton thoughts of things to come tonight flooded her over wrought brain. The vicar said his words over them and Charlotte could feel Old Mother at her back, mumbling her prayers to the loa for a long and prosperous marriage and Abigail close at her side, looking on proudly. They repeated their vows and Horatio placed the ring on her finger. They were captivated by the sight and feel of each other, lost in a world of their own, an ethereal peaceful place when they heard the vicar pronounce: 'Man and wife.'

The servants and the crew of the Retribution (Styles and Matthews the loudest) gave great cries of joyousness and excitement, while the 'proper folk' grinned and offered congratulations politely, while every thing still seemed to be moving slow as molasses, unreal as a fantasy. Horatio pressed his lips to hers and for a moment all she could feel, all she could sense, was him, the wickedly delicious taste of his mouth and tongue. For one single moment, everything in the universe revolved around him... his embrace... his kiss... nothing existed outside of him.

Too soon, reality came rushing back; cruelly, brutally as a shout broke the hazy blissful illusion. They all turned in unison too late to see Arnauds rushing upon them, the cocked pistol in his hand discharging in a foul smelling puff of smoke.

Abigail and Charlotte fell against each other, shocked emerald eyes staring dazedly into soft brown ones as they collapsed to the ground together. Horatio cried out in anguish, grasping at Charlotte, taking her into his arms desperately, shouting for a doctor when he saw the large crimson stain spreading across the stomach of her ivory dress.

Gasping severely, she put her arm around his neck and whispered, "It's not me, Horatio."

They both turned to see Mrs. Bennett clutching at her breast desperately, scarlet liquid pouring from between her fingers and trickling from her mouth. Lady Anne and Sir Edward, along with Mr. Bush, were already at her side, trying to comfort her best they could. Arnauds had already been restrained. Bones had gone for him as soon as he had seen the flash of metal, he pistol being drawn in the blazing sunlight, tackling him angrily but too late, too late. The lunge merely set off Arnauds' aim as the gun was already in the process of being fired.

Abigail reached out towards Charlotte and the girl accepted her hand, entwining their fingers. "My... sister," the woman gasped weakly. "The she looked to Horatio, her eyes somber and distant. "Take care... of her... please."

And with that, she was gone. Her body went limp and Sir Edward, running a hand lightly across her face, closed her vacant eyes, their sparkling wit lost forever. Charlotte kept hold of her hand, weeping openly, until Horatio pulled her away, into his strong embrace, whispering what little words of comfort he could think to utter in his shock and dismay, stroking the back of her neck soothingly.


	21. Chapter 19

The constabulary came and took Arnauds away, the coroner came and took Abigail away and Horatio, with a heavy heart, took Charlotte to the honeymoon cottage Mrs. Bennett had let for them to spend what little time they would have together before he had to sea again. Many people stopped by to offer condolences and Horatio turned away all but Old Mother and Bones who seemed to have a calming effect on his new bride who was much and understandably distraught. Bush called to see how he was getting by and exchanged soft comforting words with his friend before departing.

Sir Edward called later, as evening was getting on, and Horatio invited him to the parlor of the opulent but smallish cottage. Pellew updated him on all the funerary arrangements which he'd been making with his wife all afternoon and the two sat in morbid silence for some time, sipping at their brandy until Horatio couldn't stand the sound of his own breathing anymore and ventured a comment. "I was told she left no will. I suppose The Chase is in your hands now or the crown's, as so far as I could tell you are her closest male relation for she had no male blood relations."

"Goodness me no," barked Sir Edward. " I wouldn't let this place go to the crown for all the whiskey in England! She loved it too dearly and too well for that and they would not allow it to maintain its freedmen status. There is a male relation much closer who will inherit the house now. I'm sure she would wish it, and her heart would be glad of it if it went to her new brother-in-law."

Horatio's eyes dawned with realization. "Me?"

"Her dying declaration: 'my sister'," Pellew observed morosely. "It's what she wanted, I think."

"'I think you'd be much suited to this life'," Horatio remembered her saying and so repeated it aloud.

"Congratulations, Mr. Hornblower, you've just come into considerable lands and a modest fortune and obtained a lovely young bride all in the same day."

Horatio stared down into his drink, swishing the liquid about slowly before answering sadly, "And at what a cost."

"Indeed," agreed Pellew, taking the younger man's hand in his, repeating softly, "indeed." He raised his glass. "To Mrs. Abigail Bennett, damned if I ever come across as fine a woman in the colonies again."

"To Mrs. Bennett," Horatio said mournfully, clinking his glass against Sir Edward's in a toast.

"This was to be a wedding gift to you," Pellew said, handing Horatio a small object: a pendant, a miniature on ivory, and a portrait of his beloved Charlotte with a lock of her silken black hair enclosed in the back. "She had it made when the engagement was first announced, to take to sea with you."

They sat in silence again until Pellew observed that it was time to be getting back to his wife, who was much distraught and would be needing him, as Horatio should attend to his own now.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Murky dusk was descending now, its purplish glow settling over the quiet land as if it were a mourning veil. Charlotte lay still on the bed in darkness as Horatio ascended the stairs to the bedroom. He lit the candles with his own and sighed, sitting on the bed next to her, placing a soothing hand upon her back. She sniffled, and wiping her tears from her flushed and stained cheeks turned to him.

"I'm here, my love," he said huskily, touching her hair. She took his hands in hers and kissed it, each of his knuckles meriting equal attention, gratefully. "I'm here. Charley, when I saw you go down... and the blood on your gown..."

"Shhhhh," she said, pressing her fingers to his lips, frightened his words would provoke another stream of tears from her. "I love you," she sat up, gazing into his eyes. "Say you love me?"

"Always and forever, Charlotte," he breathed, gathering her into his arms. "How is Bones? Recovering?"

"He's still having trouble speaking, which is to be expected. But he tries to be so brave, he doesn't want me to see how they hurt him, but the bruises on his neck..."

"What did you do with the dress?" he asked, running his hands along the cool cotton of her nightgown, over her shoulders down to the rise and fall of her bosom.

"I gave it to Bones and Old Mother," she responded. "I told them to burn it, was that wrong of me?"

"No, love, no it wasn't," he kissed her, letting his lips hover just beyond hers for a moment, allowing her to taste his hot wet brandy laced breath. She took his wrists in her small fist's grip and pushed them more insistently into her breasts. He groaned, feeling her nipples peak beneath his pressing touch under her chemise and closed his eyes, swallowing hard as his throat went suddenly dry. "Charlotte, we don't have to..."

"I want to, Horatio," she said in a small voice. "I want my husband on my wedding night. When I was standing, alone and afraid, atop that rock gazing at the toiling sea below, contemplating my own death, it was only you that brought me back; your words, and most especially your warm touch. I fear I stand once again at the edge of that frightening precipice in my mind with only you to pull me back." She removed her hands from his wrists and placed them around his neck. "Lay with me now as my husband. It's what I want more than anything in the world." She kissed him softly, telling him in a throaty tone as his arms snaked around her rounded waist, "You are in command of this vessel now, Captain Hornblower."

The bold statement made him ache with desire. He crushed his lips to hers, his tongue desperately seeking hers, probing the rough heat of her mouth as he took her in a bruising embrace. Lightly he pet her hair, stroking gently as he kissed her face; her mouth, her cheeks her eyelids, her brow. "So beautiful," he murmured against her skin.

"My wife," he rolled the words off his tongue as if he'd never heard such an exquisite sound. He lowered his head and buried his face in the supple warmth of her bosom. "It's my fault," he said mournfully, as if he'd been biting back all evening and only the sweet caress of his beloved bride could coax it forward. "I goaded him, he was aiming for me or for, God help me, you! If Bones hadn't tackled him when he did, throwing his aim off... I could have lost you. When I took you into my arms, the blood on the dress, I thought I had."

Slowly, he undid the buttons of her nightshift and pulled it down over her shoulder, exposing her breast to his touch and taste. He suckled her fiercely, burying his burning mouth in her soft exposed flesh. She moaned and arched herself against his lips, tangling her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer against her. Her fingers went for the intriguing stiffness in his trousers but his hand batted her away.

"I'm in command, remember, my love?" he said, his breath scorching her sensitive heated skin.

She giggled; the first time he'd seen her smile since the ceremony and it made his heart fill with gladness and the throbbing in his groin intensify. "Aye, aye, captain," she told him, running her hand through his silky hair and laying back upon the bed. He grinned as she helped him remove his uniform; his jacket, his waistcoat, his neckerchief. He slipped his shirt up over his head as he kicked off his boots and she gasped at the sight his muscular tanned form slickened with a thin sheen of sweat in the warm glow of the candlelight. She'd seen it before of course, but it was different now.

She was his wife, he was her husband, and she wanted to possess him so badly she ached for him. She held her breath, biting her lip as he undid his breeches, seeming to sense her anticipation and deliberately slowing his movements. Her blood was on fire as he languidly slid them off, exposing himself to her, not for the first time but the first time as her husband. He was the paragon of masculine beauty as he stood before her bathed in the gentle flickering radiance of the candles. She wanted to touch him everywhere, taste every inch of him, but he kept swatting her hands away when she tried.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he took the hem of her chemise in his hands and pulled it roughly up over her body and head, laying his naked body against hers, pressing her down against the feather mattress with his delightful weight. She spread her thighs for him but he made no movement to penetrate her, instead raining delicious wet kisses along her face and jaw and shoulders. She could feel his rigid manhood rub lightly against the inside of her thigh, making her crazy as she tried to shift herself to take him into her but he held her firmly in place. He moved his kisses down to her breasts, where he lingered fascinated by the groans that left her parted lips as he feasted on her eager flesh. He levered himself further downwards, kissing and nuzzling her belly.

"Horatio..." she whimpered, urging him to continue his mouth's downward descent. He teased her with feather light kisses, mere brushes of his sumptuous lips as he nestled himself between her yielding thighs. He made love to her with his mouth passionately, making her mind spin with pleasure. She writhed against the exquisite intimate kiss, arching against him. He knew where to touch her, how to touch her to make her instantly frantic for him. "Horatio," she panted wildly, pulling at his hair as he intentionally slowed his wicked tongue's dance against her moist satiny skin, "I need to feel you inside me... please..."

He complied, thrusting his tongue into her body's slick entrance. She cried out as gratification, begging, pleading with him, as he deliberately placed delicate kisses on the inside of her thighs. He smiled as he carefully braced himself above her body and entered her with one mighty thrust. She threw her arms around him strongly, moving frantically against his steady penetrations. She moaned loudly and joyously every time she felt him fill her, pushing his full length into her silken passage. He could think of no greater delight than the feel of being inside her, her tight skin taking him all the way in. He loved her, he loved his wife, and he loved thinking on her as his wife. She belonged to him, they were joined as one and he was about to spill himself in her the first time as her husband. Her climax came violently, her muscles clenching around him, cries flying from her parted lips as she dug her fingernails into the tender skin of his buttocks brutally. He followed with equal conviction, giving a coarse growl as he poured his seed into her.

He kissed her tenderly, collapsing his weight on top of her in exhaustion, spent and warm with peace. Tears were standing in her eyes and he frowned down at her, concerned.

"Did I hurt you?" She shook her head and told him that is what just that she loved him so. "I love you too," he told her and then repeated it with each soft wet kiss, "I love you, I love you, I love you..."

Just then the shuttered doors to the bedroom verandah blew open against a furious gale and something fluttered in, a blur of black feathers and beating wings, which for one odd instant quite reminded Charlotte of the constant fussing movements of Mrs. Abigail's skirts. The raven settled quite contentedly upon the edge of the wardrobe and regarded them curiously. With a groan, Horatio disentangled himself from his beloved and shooed the thing out, pausing in the doorway to admire the hot sticky and extremely windy night. His sweat glistening body was highlighted by the soft luminescence of the waning moonlight, every muscle showing itself to her perfectly. After a moment she joined him there, wrapping a blanket around the both of them. He took her into his arms and kissed her forehead.

"There's ring around the moon tonight, Charley," he said quietly. "What does that mean?"

"It's the lover's ring, Horatio," she told him, holding her hand up and showing him her wedding ring. "Like this. There was a ring around the moon the night we were first together, do you remember?"

"How can I forget, my love?" he murmured into her hair. "But it's only half a ring for the moon is only half full."

"It means separation," she told him sadly, excepting from him a small loving kiss on the lips. "And do you see that reddish shadow along the bottom?" she asked and he nodded. "Blood on the moon; it means the dead are about tonight."

"Do they mean harm, do you think?"

"No, not tonight," she replied turned her head into his chest. "Not with a lover's ring around the moon. It's not your fault you know, Horatio. It's not Abigail's, it's not yours, and it's not mine. There are consequences to all our actions, we cannot foretell them. Let's back to bed, my sweet."


	22. Chapter 20

"Mrs. Hornblower, mum," the man Charlotte now recognized as Retribution's boatswain's mate, Styles, saluted politely with a grin as he helped her come aboard. "The captain's in his cabin, mum," he told her and escorted her there as she found she had no sea legs whatsoever.

Horatio smiled as she entered his cabin and stood to greet her, embracing her tightly and kissing her with restrained passion on the lips at first, then letting the kiss deepen having to break it off when he felt the first stirrings of desire in his groin. "How goes it at The Chase?" he asked.

"Things are running well and smoothly," she replied, running her gloved hand along the breast of his uniform jacket and slipping it inside. "It feels odd though, being mistress of the plantation after growing up as a servant there. I find myself wanting to bow when I enter a room, or get things for myself. I'm not used to being waited on. And I'll miss you. I don't want you to go." She silenced him of what he was about to say instantly with a finger to his lips. "I know, I know, about your duty and I love you for it. But do not forget your duty to your wife as well."

"I will not," he promised, "I cannot, for you run through my every thought. You'll have Commodore Pellew and the Lady Anne's company for a while and I'll be back before you know it, I promise. Now give us a kiss and say good-bye." Tears were in her eyes as she did as she was told, kissing him ardently.

"A fine one you get there, sir," Matthews told his captain after Charlotte had departed.

"Indeed," Captain Hornblower agreed with a small smile. "And Mr. Bush, do wipe that ridiculous smirk off your face."

"Aye, aye, Captain," Bush continued to smirk. "A fine match, Mr. Hornblower," he said in a low tone as so no one could over hear, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder in a affectionate manner. Horatio caught something quite different in his friend's bright eyes now, a sort of melancholy regret and hurt. He'd long suspected, picking up on subtle hints, that Mrs. Bennett and Mr. Bush had become better acquainted than either had let on, and now his suspicions seemed confirmed. "Well done."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Charlotte watched from the beach as the ship slowly slipped off over the horizon until soon the sky was stained orange and gold in sunset. She blew a kiss to the wind and fancied she could smell only for an instant Horatio's scent on the gentle breeze. She felt Old Mother's presence at her back. "Supper's ready, Mrs. Charlotte," the ancient woman said with a wheeze of laughter. "Did you give him the satchel?"

"The protection charm?" asked Charlotte rhetorically. "I slipped it into his pocket, near his heart wear he keeps the miniature of me," she smiled. Drumbeats sounded clearly in the distance, carried with eerie resonance on the warm breeze. "They're starting early tonight," she observed. "Come let us walk by the cove." And they did, then by the small family graveyard and Mrs. Abigail's fresh grave where Charlotte laid a flower and kissed the stone. The old woman laughed again as a raven came to settle on a headstone nearby, watching them inquisitively.

"You just love them and keep them in your thoughts always and they be wit you, child," Old Mother told her putting an arm around her and giving her a gentle squeeze. "Now come, the mistress of the manor can't be late fer her own supper and the loa are about tonight!" The raven took to flight and followed them back to The Chase. Charlotte found something comforting in its presence and said nothing of it.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Horatio lay alone and silent in his swaying bunk, contemplating, thinking always on his wife. He reached into his breast pocket to retrieve the miniature of his beautiful Charlotte, to put himself through the hell once again of seeing her lovely likeness in his palm without being able to smell her intoxicating scent or taste her skin. He frowned when he felt something else there as well. He pulled it out and considered it curiously. It was a small satchel, a tiny fragment of chamois tied roughly into a ball. He put it to his nose and the potent familiar fragrance of the kitchen house and his dearest Charlotte filled his nostrils. He smiled, replacing it in his pocket and laying back, his arm behind his head on the pillow.

That night he dreamt he was back in Jamaica, the wispy blindingly white clouds passing over the brilliant blue sky quickly, the calm waters of the tide singing their endless refrain. Many people were there... Archie, Abigail, many he did not recognize but he and his beloved Charlotte were alone. She kissed him intensely, running her hand through his hair as he rested his head against the comforting plumpness of her bosom. "When will you be back?"

"Soon," he promised. She laughed as light as the air around them. "Not soon enough." They lay there, in each other's embrace, whispering words of love and devotion all night long and many a night after.

**THE END**  



End file.
